


Axis One (Or, how I learned to stop worrying and love the bomb)

by cunninglingus



Category: British Actor RPF, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: And Loki is a twisty little shit obviously, Crack, Dork!Tom, Fight Club Style AU, Fluff, Gratuitous Smut, Hiddlesworth, Humor, M/M, Romance, Sexy UPS Driver!Chris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-13 14:18:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2153724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cunninglingus/pseuds/cunninglingus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom covers his face with his hands. “I’m hallucinating. I’ve gone mad. I’m schizophrenic.”</p><p>“Well, yes. A bit. But don’t fret, Tommy-boy. I come in peace. I’m here to help you fix this pathetic excuse you call a life.”</p><p>“It’s not - “ Tom starts, then stops short. Well, ok. Tom narrows his eyes. “What do you mean, <em>help me</em>?” </p><p>FIGHT CLUB STYLE AU: Tom is a dorky, soft-spoken, too-polite-for-his-own-good accountant who simply cannot seem to stand up for himself or take charge of his life. And Loki is his Tyler Durden.</p><p>Is there a DSM classification for this?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [townpariah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/townpariah/gifts), [umakoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/umakoo/gifts), [curds_and_wheyface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curds_and_wheyface/gifts), [furiedheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/furiedheart/gifts), [Chianine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chianine/gifts), [TheJotunPoleDancer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheJotunPoleDancer/gifts).



> Ok. So this fic has been festering my head for the last few months, and it's just so wonderfully nutters I couldn't resist. My first attempt at crack/humor, and I don't mean to toot my own horn, but I kind of spent waaaay too much time cackling into microsoft word while writing it. ehehehehe 
> 
> I’m dedicating this fic to the hiddlesworth authors out there who wrote the stories that got me hooked on this ship in the first place. it’s because of you i cry myself to sleep at night. Especially Umakoo and Rangerdanger, like stop ruining my life already, uggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this as much as I’ve enjoyed your work xoxoxox 
> 
>  [Tom inspiration](http://teresa-dances-in-sequins.tumblr.com/post/95023148457)  
> [Loki inspiration](http://teresa-dances-in-sequins.tumblr.com/post/95023105867)  
> [Chris inspiration](https://31.media.tumblr.com/bbde027ba9193c01d133c335c2d1e174/tumblr_nagzpxUKbz1s79a3po1_400.jpg)
> 
> (if anyone has a tumblr gifset of that chris TDW interview please let me know because GUH)  
>  
> 
> Note that i have nothing against fassy or cumberbatch. they are fine actors and do not deserve what i did to them here.

Tom jostles around his grocery bags as he fumbles for the right key to his condo. He tries to keep everything upright,  but despite his best efforts, the oranges spill and scatter all over his front step, rolling this way and that.

 

“Drat,” Tom mutters. 

 

“Evening, Tom,” Tom’s neighbour Mark calls from over the hedge. He has dirt smudged across his cheek from mucking around in his garden. Tom does not mention it.

 

“Hey, Mark.” Tom shuffles the bags around in his arms. “What’s up?”

 

“Oh, y’know. Same old.“ Mark makes an apologetic face. “Might wanna check your roses out back.”

 

Tom groans. “Again?” He nudges the door open with his foot.

 

“It’s your turn to talk to her.” Mark teases.

 

Tom closes his eyes.

 

 “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

 

***

 

Tom’s life, in his own words, would best described as mediocre. Maybe tolerable. He pays his taxes, has a tabby cat named Ringo, enjoys rainy nights with a glass of red. No kid really wants to grow up to become an accountant, but surely there are worst things in the world than that. Tom is polite and well-mannered and soft-spoken, bit on the introvert side, but nonetheless enjoys participating in local community theatre productions in the evenings. He makes decent money, owns a decent condo, drives a decent vehicle. Heck, he might even pass for good-looking once his teeth get straightened out. All in all, Tom has a thoroughly acceptable life.

 

Yes, indeed. Thoroughly acceptable.

 

***

 

“Hey, Ken,” Tom says meekly, knocking on the doorframe of Kenneth’s office, “Got a moment?’

 

Kenneth smiles softly, looking up from the _absolute chaos_ that his his desk. Honestly. Tom has no idea how the man can put on such successful productions working like that;  Tom would go nuts within a week.

 

“Oh. Hi Tom. Sure. Have a seat.”

 

“I um,” Tom begins, sinking in the chair opposite Ken. He already feels stupid before he even begins. “I don’t want to trouble you, but -”

 

“You want to talk about the casting.” Kenneth finishes.

 

“Yeah.” Tom says, then shrinks. “Sorry. I just was really hoping for a bigger part this time. Not that Benedict's not a great choice, but....you said I’ve improved....and I was hoping.....” His voice trails off. Who does he think he is, coming in here and questioning the director’s decision? He kicks himself for thinking this was a good idea.

 

Kenneth sighs. “I know Tom. And you have. But being understudy to the lead isn’t nothing. I wouldn’t trust that to just anybody.” 

 

“It’s the braces, isn’t it,” Tom says miserably. “I’ll have them off before opening night -”

 

“It’s not that at all! You’re a great actor. And you have Dr. Jekyll down pat, I’d have cast you in a heartbeat if that was all the role called for. But you just don’t have the….spark for Hyde. You hesitate too much, second guess yourself. Benedict attacks it. That’s why he got lead.”

 

Kenneth smiles.

 

“Tom, believe me, I would tell you if I thought you didn’t have it in you. You have amazing potential. I can see it. But there’s something holding you back. Something I can’t seem to break through. I’ve done as much as I can; the rest, you gotta work out for yourself.”

 

He gets up and pats Tom shoulders in a comforting gesture.

 

“I’m sorry, Tom. But my casting is final. Do your best as understudy, and we’ll see about next season, okay?”

 

Tom slumps.

 

“Okay.”

 

***

 

“Hey Braceface!”

 

Tom groans inwardly as he looks up from his computer screen. Michael is leering down at him over his cubicle wall, his lips pre-curled in an unsettling smile. Tom is ninety-eight percent certain Michael knows how self-conscious he is about having braces at the ripe old age of twenty seven.

 

 Michael doesn’t care. This is because Michael is a jerk.

 

“Oh, um. Hey Michael.”

 

“Listen. I was wondering about those T-4s I dropped off yesterday….”

 

Tom smiles weakly, closed-lipped. He nods to his screen. “Still working on them.”

 

“Yeeeeaaaaah. See, the problem with that, Tom, is I kind of need them now.” Michael pouts, but his eyes are hard. “You said you’d have them done for me.”

 

“I said by the end of today. It’s, uh. It’s only three.” Tom shrinks under Mike’s glare. “I’m sorry.”

 

Tom cringes inwardly. He shouldn’t be apologizing at all. Michael isn’t his superior. He isn’t even the office manager. They have exactly the same position here at Hopkins and Co. And Tom has been doing most of his work for the better part of a year. 

 

It isn’t just that Michael’s a jerk. It’s also that he’s an _attractive_ jerk. He has the kind of chiselled good looks that Tom would have found appealing if they weren’t accompanied by literally _the worst personality ever_.

 

 _“I know you probably have a faggy crush on me,”_ Michael had once said. _“But keep it professional, okay? I mean it’s cool you’re a fag and all, but just don’t go grabbing my dick in the men’s room.”_

 

Michael sighs, clearly frustrated.

 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Michael says. “God, you’re like a broken record, apologizing all the time.  Whatever. By the end of the day, then.”

 

Tom nods, hating himself. “Sure. No problem.”

 

***

 

It’s five-forty five, and Tom’s still at the office. His mother calls, and is, understandably, not impressed at being blown off. _Again._

 

“You should come to Auntie Clara’s tonight. Emma’s in town,” she coaxes, ever hopeful. “It’ll be good for you, honey. We haven’t had you around in ages, it seems like.”

 

Tom perks up. He hadn’t hung out with his sister in a few weeks, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t craving a good home cooked meal right about now. Especially if Aunt Clara is hosting - she makes the most artery-clogging tiramisu this side of the Greenwich meridian.

 

His face falls, however, when he takes stock of all the work he has to finish - _his own_ work. He’d spent nearly all afternoon on Michael’s stuff.

 

“I want to, mum, I really do. But I can’t. I’m stuck at the office.”

 

“Again?” Tom can practically _feel_ her motherly concern seeping through the receiver. “Tom, this is the third time this month. You’re running yourself ragged!”

 

_Not terribly far from the truth._

 

“You need to talk to your boss.” she says. “It isn’t healthy.”

 

“It’s fine.”  Tom says, rubbing his temples. “I don’t mind.”

 

“At least ask for a raise, then. You’ve earned it. You brought a lot of business to that place since you started.”

 

_Again, not far from the truth._

 

“I guess,” Tom says, although he already knows he won’t. “Maybe.”

 

“I’m just worried about you. You always seem so frazzled, and you’ve lost so much weight. You’re too thin. Gran is desperate to feed you.”

 

“I’m fine, really,” Tom insists. “I’m sorry, I just, I can’t make it tonight. Send my love to the fam, and to Emma.”

 

His mom sighs into the receiver. “Alright, honey. Next time, okay?”

 

“Yeah. For sure.” Tom says, masking his disappointment with a false veneer of cheerfulness. “Next time.”

 

“Love you.”

 

“Love you too.”

 

***

 

Tom’s not exactly sure when everything starts to take a turn for the ridiculous. If he had to guess, it was probably that one Wednesday he first met Chris.

 

It’s probably indicative of how dumb his life is that he happened to be on all fours, looking for the caramel he’d dropped, as a pair of well-used sneakers come into his peripheral vision.

 

“Hey, ‘scuse me. Can you sign for this?”

 

Tom sits up too quickly, bonking his head on the bottom of the desk.

 

He rubs his forehead, looking up at honest to god the most beautiful man he’d ever seen in his life: tall, blonde, with a dusting of tawny scruff along his jaw. Dark, swirling tattoos peek out from underneath the hem of his UPS uniform.

 

“Whoa,” Tom says, before he can help himself.

 

Adonis’ face contorts. “You okay there, mate?”

 

Fuck. He’s Australian too.

 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. thanks. I can sign.” Tom says, scrambling to his feet and trying to regain some lost dignity. He sits himself on his exercise ball, and it very well near escapes from under his butt. Tom rights himself and laughs shakily, _ehehehe_. The ball had been the cause of more than one casualty since he’d purchased it in lieu of a regular office chair. ( _Buy an exercise ball,_ they said. _Improve your posture while you work,_ they said.) Michael had once kicked it out from underneath him, à la Lucy from _Charlie Brown_ , and while Tom’s ass-bruises have long since healed, his ego has yet to recover from the hit.

 

_Play it cool, Tom. Play it cool._

 

Adonis hands him the box and Tom sets it on his desk.

 

“You’re not Debbie.” Tom blurts out, but Adonis only grins.

 

“She retired last week. I’m taking over her route.”

 

“Oh. That’s good.” Tom says, then adds quickly, “For Debbie, I mean. I’m glad.”

 

His fingers shake as he’s handed the little machine to sign his name, and as a result, his signature’s an illegible mess.

 

“Is, um. Is that too scribbly?”

 

“Nah, it’s just the machine, everyone’s signature turns out like that. Believe me, I’ve seen some doozies. And your last name?”

 

“Ah, Hiddleston. H-I-D-D-L-E-S-T-O-N.”

 

Adonis taps the info into the machine. “First initial?”

 

“T.”

 

Adonis tucks his machine on his belt. Tom absolutely does not look at his crotch. “Well, thanks, T. I guess I’ll be seeing you next week, then? You’ll be my go-to signature guy?”

 

“Yeah,” Tom says, gulping hard. “Eheheh. You bet. See you.”

 

Adonis smiles warmly. “Cheers.”

 

Tom stares at him until he’s out of sight, then rubs at the mark starting to form on his forehead.

 

“Ow,” he mumbles.

 

***

 

Tom hesitates for a good five minutes on Ms. Miller’s step, hovering his hand over her doorbell. His heart is pounding. He already _knows_  he’s shit at confrontation, what the fuck is he doing?

 

_No, you can do this. You’re in the right. Come on. Man up._

 

Tom rings the bell, and instantly considers making a break for it, but to his credit, refrains. He cracks his knuckles as he waits.

 

“Hi Abby,” He says weakly, once the ginormous woman appears in the door. Her overly-makeuped eyes crinkle at him in annoyance. “Lovely evening tonight, innit?”

 

“What do you want?” She asks bluntly.

 

“Sorry to bother you, but the neighbours and I are kind of worried,” Tom repeats the lines he’d practiced in the shower earlier that day, “Baby keeps getting through the fence.”

 

“I had it fixed.”

 

“Yeah. Ehehehe. See, I think there still must be an opening somewhere, because my rose bushes were all dug up again.”

 

Abby glares at him, stoney-faced. “I told you, I fixed the fence. It wasn’t Baby.”

 

Tom smiles, even though he knows darn well it was. Only one animal could possibly have such a penchant for destruction. A monster in the guise of a fluffy Bichon Frise. The dog circles Abby’s cankles, and Tom could _swear_ it’s laughing at him.

 

“I’m not saying it was, I’m just wondering if you could maybe take another look? Just in case?”

 

Abby’s glare intensifies. Dressed all in black, she is literally shaped like a huge boulder, ready to crush anyone and anything in her path. That scene from Indiana Jones springs to mind.

 

“Can’t help you,” she says.

 

“No? Alright then, ” Tom says meekly, offering a watery smile. “Well, thanks. Have a good- “ The door is closed in Tom’s face, “- Evening.”

 

***

 

As much as the vast majority of Tom’s life is absolutely deplorable, Tom can’t pretend there aren’t certain things going well. He buys a bow tie collar for Ringo and giggles uncontrollably every time he slinks by. Ugh, he looks so _adorable_ in his wittle bow tie! Who’s a handsome kitty-cat? Looks like you’re going to the office too! You need those reports right _meow??!_ Ehehehehe!

 

Ringo, indignant, scampers under the couch and refuses to come out for the rest of the evening.

 

So there’s that.

 

But the highlight of Tom’s week, however, always tends to involve a certain blond UPS carrier with the ass of a greek statue and the face of an Armani model.

 

Tom knows whenabouts he’s scheduled to come and pretends to focus on his Excel spreadsheet (very busy, important stuff, yes indeed), even as he sees him approach out of the corner of his eye. Tom’s stomach is in knots, and he wracks his brain to think of something witty and charming to say.

 

What comes out, however, is:

 

“Do you have a package for me?” Tom blurts out, then is instantly horrified at how _pornographic_ that sounds. “I mean, a delivery. I mean, my toner. Sorry. I’m just...really low on toner.”

 

Adonis laughs. “Oh, the old _package_ joke. I get that a lot. Some people even think I’m one of those strip-o-grams.”

 

Tom stares blankly.

 

“I’m kidding.”

 

“Oh. Ehehehehe.”

 

“But I could be, hey? In this snappy outfit?”

 

“Um,” Tom says.

 

“I’m kidding.” Adonis’ eyes twinkle with amusement. He hands Tom the machine, and Tom signs on the screen. “Hiddleston, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Tom says. “First initial - ”

 

“- T. I Remember. Thanks.”

 

Tom reads waaaaay too much into that, which is probably why he blurts out, “It’s Tom. My name is Tom.”

 

Adonis smiles. “Chris. Cheers.”

 

 

***

 

Chris is a perfect name for someone who looks like that, Tom decides: friendly and warm, and tells really cheesy jokes, and likes to go surfing on weekends. Chris inspects the photos Tom’s got hanging on his cubicle walls, lingering on the pictures of Ringo.

 

“I’m an animal person myself,” Chris tells him. “I’m thinking of adopting a dog from the shelter. An older one, maybe. They need homes too.”

 

“Guh,” Tom says.

 

Chris always steals a caramel candy out of the bowl on Tom’s desk, waggling his eyebrows as if daring Tom to say something. Tom doesn’t, of course, and let’s be honest, he wouldn’t even if he did object.

 

“This candy, I like it,” Chris declares, popping one into his mouth as Tom signs for the package. “Never seen this brand before. Where’d you get them?”

 

“Nowhere exciting, just Save On. They’re good but the chewy ones are my favourite,” Tom says, “But I can’t have those because…”

 

_Because I have braces._

 

Tom’s face instantly burns, and he presses his lips together. Chris is staring at him.

 

Tom clears his throat. He fires off the spiel off by rote: “Ahem, see, my mum was single, and money was a bit tight growing up, so we couldn’t afford the orthodontic work. So as soon as I got my student debt under control, I got them done. Everyone said it would be worth it. Ehehehe. I dunno. But I’ll get them off soon.”

 

He reddens, Chris just smiles warmly.

 

“For what it’s worth,” Chris says, “I don’t think they look bad. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

 

Tom laughs nervously. “I look about sixteen.”

 

“Well,” Chris says, and his face breaks out into a huge lopsided grin, “Maybe. But I think it’s admirable, y’know? You’ll definitely be glad after you get them off. My brother had them and right after he got them off we went to the movies and ate popcorn until we all got sick.”

 

Tom nods halfheartedly, making a point to keep his mouth closed-lipped. 

 

“Course, he actually _was_ sixteen….”

 

Tom groans and covers his face in his hands.

 

“I’m kidding!” Chris says, and gives Tom a good-natured pat on the shoulder. “I’m kidding. You look fine, Tom. Really.”

 

“Thanks,” Tom squeaks. He’s not sure what else to say, so there is a long, awkward pause that seems to go on forever. Tom’s tie feels so tight he feels like he’s going to choke.

 

At length, Chris says, “Well, I gotta go, places to see, packages to carelessly toss about. See you next week?”

 

“Yeah,” Tom says. “See you.”

 

***

 

Tom gets home at quarter to seven, bone-tired and starving. He wishes he had the energy to cook, but instead, he brings home a container of greasy takeaway curry and tucks in in front of the T.V.. It’s less satisfying to cook for one, anyway. Why bother dirtying all the dishes?

 

Tom is not even watching the movie that’s playing - some cheesy action hero flick - but it’s mindless and fun and Tom enjoys it nonetheless. Ringo is sleeping peacefully on the armchair next to him and Tom chuckles - ehehehe - he’s still got his cute little bow tie on.

 

Tom can’t resist. He pulls out his cell phone to snap a picture.

 

“Say cheese.” Tom says into his phone screen.

 

A figure slips into the shot. “Cheese!”

 

Tom screams and leaps to his feet, hurling up over the back of the couch with all the grace of a goddamn sack of potatoes. The first thing that springs to mind is to _fucking get the fuck out of there,_ and Tom does, sprinting up the stairs to his bedroom and locking the door behind him.

 

“Oh my god,” Tom pants frantically. There’s an intruder in his house! A burglar! Murderer! Oh god! He’d left Ringo downstairs! What if the intruder takes him hostage?? Tom would never forgive himself. He doesn’t even have his cell; in his panic, he’d dropped it on the floor of his living room and left it there. He’s going to die. He’s going to die and he never even got to enjoy having straight teeth...

 

“I’m calling the cops,” Tom yells. “So if you know what’s good for you, you better get out of here. Or else.”

 

“Or else what?” comes the man’s voice on the other side of the door.

 

“Or else…..” Tom says weakly, losing his nerve, “You’ll be sorry.”

 

“That the best you got? My my, you _do_ need some help.”

 

Tom screams again, whirling around. The man is there, standing behind him, which is _absolutely impossible,_ because there’s only one door into his bedroom, and there is no way he could have beaten him up here, and Tom could’ve _sworn_ he’d just heard him on the other side a second ago…?! How could he -

 

“Oh my god,” Tom says again.

 

The man from downstairs is, in no uncertain terms, _his exact double._ Same height, eyes, facial features. While Tom’s expression could best be summed up as _gobsmacked,_ the man seems rather amused, his lips are curled upwards in a smirk. It’s like looking into a mirror, except instead of Tom’s wild curls and tan skin, the man is pale, his black hair slicked away from his face.

 

“Um,” Tom says, after staring for an exorbitant amount of time. “Is it just me or - “

 

“We look a lot alike?” The man finishes. Tom notes, with more than a little jealousy, that he has perfectly straight teeth. “Yeah. It’s not just you.”

 

Tom swallows dryly. “Do I have an identical twin I don’t know about?”

 

“No, but that would make a lot more sense than what I’m about to tell you.” He motions to the bed. “Maybe you should sit down, take it easy.”

 

“How did you get in here?” Tom chokes out. “That’s - That’s impossible. I locked you out. _I locked you out._ There’s no way…”

 

“Tom,” The man sighs. “Sit the fuck down.”

 

“Don’t touch me!” Tom shrieks.

 

“Alright, alright. We’re a little jumpy today. I get it. Will you hear me out at least?”

 

Tom sits, tense, ready to jump out the window and make a break for it if the man tries anything.

 

“So I bet you’re wondering about the whole -” he gestures to his face.

 

Tom shoots him a look. “Gee, ya think?!”

 

“Funny story, that. See, I am you. A part of you. The _best_ part, I’d even go so far to say. I’m your id, your repressed unconscious. Your hidden desires, your secret wishes, your innermost pervert. It’s all very freudian, really.”

 

“Wait,” Tom interrupts, “Wait a minute. You’re not _real?_ ”  


“What is real? How do you define real? If you're talking about what you feel, taste, smell, or see, then real is simply electrical signals interpreted by your brain.”

 

Tom blinks. “You stole that from - “

 

“The Matrix. Yeah. But it’s very applicable here. All I’m saying is, I’m about as real as anyone else you’ve ever met, in a way. You really can’t be certain anyone exists at all. Maybe Mr. Fabio Mc-Cream-your-pants is just a manifestation of your unconscious lust for tall, buff men with giant cocks.”

 

Tom’s mouth drops. “You _know_ about that???”

 

“Of course I do, fucktard. I _am you._ Jesus. Aren’t you listening?”

 

Tom covers his face with his hands. “I’m hallucinating. I’ve gone mad. I’m schizophrenic.”

 

“Well, yes. A bit. But don’t fret, Tommy-boy. I come in peace. I’m here to help you fix this pathetic excuse you call a life.”

 

“It’s not - “ Tom starts, then stops short. Well, ok. Tom narrows his eyes. “What do you mean, _help me_?”

 

“Let me ask you something, Tom. Is this how you pictured your life when you were a kid?”

 

“Um,” Tom says.

 

“Come on. Be honest. When you were a kid and you thought about being a grown-up, did you imagine being like-” The man looks him up and down, unimpressed, “ -This?”

 

The man tweaks Tom’s nipple painfully and Tom yelps.

 

“NO, TOM. THE ANSWER IS NO.”

 

“Ow!” Tom whines, rubbing his nipple and cradling his pecs protectively. “That _hurt.”_

 

“What are you gonna do about it?” The man shoves Tom in the chest. “What you gonna do?”

 

“Stop that!”

 

Another shove. “Make me. Come on, Tom.”

 

“Listen. I don’t know who or what you are, but I don’t want to fight you. Okay? So just...calm down. Let’s just- let’s talk about it.”

 

“SEE? You see? This is exactly your problem. You’re…..how shall I put this…...a huge fucking pussy.”

 

“ _Hey_!”

 

The man goes on, “You’re a huge, wishy-washy pussy and you let people walk all over you like a pathetic little bitch and I’m here to help you grow a pair.”

 

“You’re not real,” Tom repeats, shaking his head. “You’re not real. This is madness. I’ve gone mad. I need to check myself in the psych ward -”

 

Tom’s head whips to the side as he’s slapped.

 

“OW,” Tom whines. “How can you do that if you’re not real?”

 

“I’m in your brain, stupid. Where do you think pain comes from? So listen up. No psych wards. No telling anyone about this. Not your mom, not your sisters, not even your fucking cat. Do you understand?” 

 

All Tom can do is nod helplessly. The man’s face softens.

 

“As I said, I’m here to _help you,_ Tom, but this has to be between you and me.”

 

Tom’s doppelganger pinches his cheeks. “You just relax, kiddo. Let me handle everything. You’re in good hands.”

 

***

 

He’s gone when Tom wakes in the morning. Tom blinks. He can’t remember having fallen asleep. Strange.

 

Tom chalks the experience up to too little rest and not enough vitamin D. A vivid dream, nothing more. It couldn’t be anything else. Tom convinces himself this is the case.

 

The rest of the week passes without incident. Tom gets up early, goes for a jog, showers, goes to work, does his laundry. He has a few incredibly deep sleeps, with strange, hazy dreams that he can’t seem to recall come morning. Somehow, he still feels exhausted, and practically trudges to work and back home again, in a perpetual state of quasi-fogginess.

 

“Evening, Tom.”

 

“Hey Mark,” Tom says, shuffling through the mail he’d just picked up.

 

Mark nods to the neighbour’s lot, where Abby is tugging along a strange naked mole rat-like creature along on a leash. “Get a load of Baby?”

 

“Oh my god!” Tom exclaims. “Botched grooming job or what?’

 

Mark raises his eyebrows conspiratorily. ”Word on the street is that someone _shaved_ it.”

 

“What?” Tom says, then giggles before he can help himself. “That’s terrible.”

 

“Yeah. And! Best part, they also painted _Fix your fence_ on its back.”

 

“On the dog??” Tom asks, and Mark nods, grinning. “How did that happen?”

 

“I guess the dog got out, and someone got a hold of it.” Mark shrugs. “But the cow did fix her fence, _finally,_ so Hallelujah for my potatoes.”

 

Tom has to do a second take, because as much as he wouldn’t wish harm on anyone, there is a certain amount of satisfaction in seeing Abby Miller and her stupid dog get their comeuppance.

 

“That’s awful, really,” Tom says, half-laughing. “Poor Baby!”

 

“Not funny at all,” Mark agrees. He holds his hand up over the fence, and Tom grins, bringing his hand up to meet Mark’s asymptote high five. Their hands swoop upwards without touching: _as a line rising infinitely towards the y-axis but never crossing it._ It’s a joke only an accountant and a physicist would find funny.

 

“So I take it it wasn’t you, then.”

 

“Naw,” Mark says. “But whoever it was is getting a big batch of my homemade barbeque ribs.”

 

Tom laughs. “Maybe I should take credit then.”

 

***

 

It’s cool enough that Tom manages to go for a jog later that evening. It hadn’t been a great run - he’s still so curiously tired this week - but at least he made it out instead of lazing on the couch. He trudges into the shower and runs the water as hot as it’ll go. Tom hums in pleasure. The pulsing water soothes his sore muscles and drowns out the incessant buzzing in his head. After this, Tom just wants to fall into bed and sleep for the entire weekend.

 

His thoughts drift as he rinses the shampoo from his scalp. He thinks of Chris, of his broad, playful smile, his chest, his arms; the way he always seems so excited to see Tom; those tattoos peeking out under his clothes, creeping up his neck and down his biceps. Tom wants to see them all, trace the designs with his fingertips. Tom imagines Chris bare-chested: does he have tattoos only his arms, or does he have them on his back and chest too?

 

Tom hums, a knot of arousal settling in his belly. What does his _cock_ look like? Is he cut or uncut? He’d be thick, Tom already decides. Because Chris’ neck and arms are thick. Tom palms at himself absent-mindedly. He’s half-hard now, but it feels too good to stop.

 

Chris would be firm, but gentle. Rough, but not cruel. He’d press Tom up against the wall, hitch one of Tom’s legs over his hip and rut against him while they kiss lazily, groaning into each other’s mouths.

 

Tom strokes himself in time to this fantasy, fully hard now. He hadn’t jerked off in awhile, his balls heavy and bursting with the need to come. Tom tosses his head back and moans. If only it truly were Chris, here in the shower with him…….

 

“Need a hand?”

 

Tom makes the most unmanly scream, scrambling to cover his privates with his sailboat bath curtain.

 

The black haired man just grins, standing in Tom’s shower, naked and unfazed.

 

“You,” Tom says, still clutching the bath curtain against his chest like plate armour. His erection is gone within milliseconds. “You again.”

 

He cocks an eyebrow, “Am I interrupting?”

 

“Fuck,” Tom says, scrubbing a hand over his face.

 

 “No need to be shy, buddy.  Nothing I haven’t already seen.”

 

Tom’s eyes skim down the man’s body. Like his face, his body is a exact replica of Tom’s own - down to every birthmark and scar and freckle. Even his cock is the same, although Tom is far too shy to linger on it.

 

“What do you want?” Tom asks weakly, for lack of anything better to say.

 

The man only grins. “I take it you approve of the little number I did on Broadway Baby?”

 

Tom starts, eyes widening in shock. “That was you??”

 

The man wiggles his eyebrows, smiling slyly, and taps his nose.

 

“But…. _How?_!” Tom sputters. “You’re _not real!”_

 

“What is real? How do you define -”

 

“TELL ME,” Tom snarls, grabbing his shoulders. “No jokes, no games. You tell me _right now._ ”

 

The man laughs. “Oh ho ho! I like this feistiness! See? You totally have it in you. Okay, okay. Because you asked nicely.”

 

Tom releases the man with a grunt, but his stupid, shit-eating smile doesn’t dim.

 

“See, I am you - “

 

“I got that.” Tom says flatly.

 

“And _you,_ Tom, get up to some shit when you black out at night.”

 

Tom pauses. “ _What?”_ Then the puzzle pieces come together- the strange dreams, the insomnia, the falling in and out of consciousness. “ _I_ did this?”

 

“Well,” the man says indignantly, “I _helped.”_

 

“You take control of me?”

 

“Something like that. But really, Tom, I only act on desires you already harbour deep down in that wonderful, twisted little brain of yours. We’re the same person, after all.”

 

“So I’m schizophrenic _and_ I have a uncontrollable sleepwalking problem? Bloody fabulous.”

 

“Yeah, you’re pretty fucked in the head. But hey, the old manatee fixed her fence! That little bugger isn’t going to be mucking around in your rose bushes anymore. Although I do think you should find a less fruity hobby.”

 

“I’m going to bed,” Tom grumbles, climbing out of the shower and reaching for a towel. “Do me a favour and don’t set fire to anything while I’m asleep.”

 

The man nods solemnly. “I will try.”

 

***

 

Tom is staring at his computer screen, pretending to work, as Loki sits himself on the desk, sucking lewdly on a lollipop from Karen’s candy bowl. Tom isn’t sure why he’d given the man that name, but he started mentally referring to him as Loki and it just kind of…….stuck. It suits him, Tom decides, with his cunning, mischievous eyes and jet black hair. Loki does not object, and responds to it as naturally as if it had always been his name. Tom supposes that that would make sense, if indeed he were a figment of Tom’s imagination.

 

And as much as Tom hates to admit it, that does appear to be the case. Loki pops in and out of existence, seemingly on a whim.  He’s often there one minute, often just to provide some charming, _insightful_ commentary, and gone the next. Other times, he says nothing, but stands guard over Tom like an overprotective boyfriend. Most disconcerting, no one else seems to be able to see or hear him. He is utterly invisible to everyone but Tom. He’s also _distracting._

 

“You look a bit tense. Have you considered blowing a load in the men’s room?”

 

“Shut up, shut up,” Tom mutters through clenched teeth. “I’m at work, for Christsakes.”

 

Loki shrugs, twirling a lollipop in his fingers. The candy has tinted his lips a sinful red. Tom wonders, briefly, if that what he’d look like, if he were as effortlessly sexual and so utterly at ease in his own skin.

 

“Just - could you maybe dissipate for an hour or two? I’d like to be able to finish enough of this to take a lunch hour today.”

 

“Half of this work isn’t even yours, It’s Fassy’s.”

 

“I know.”

 

“He’s taking advantage of you.”

 

“I know,” Tom grits out.

 

“Doesn’t that….I dunno…..piss you off?”

 

“Yes, Loki. Yes, it pisses me off.”

 

“Then do something about it!” Loki says. “Tell him to fuck off! Jesus! How can you be such a pussy?”

 

“Because I am! I just am, alright? Is that what you wanted me to say?” Tom snaps. “I’m a pussy. I’m a huge pussy, I let people walk all over me and don’t know how to say no. There. Are you happy?”

 

“Well, the first step is admitting you have a problem.”

 

“What’s the second step?”

 

“Egg his car?” Loki says hopefully.

 

“Ugh!” Tom makes a shooing motion. “Could you just - just go away for a minute? Or at least keep quiet? You’re giving me a headache.”

 

Loki shrugs and hops off the desk. He moseys out of Tom’s line of sight and, for all intents and purposes, disappears.

 

Tom sighs, settling back into his paperwork. It’s so much less distracting without having Loki breathing down his back. Loki is gone for the rest of the day and Tom doesn’t miss him.

 

 

***

 

For a schizophrenic hallucination claiming to be Tom’s wants and desires, Loki is remarkably dissimilar to Tom on almost every possible dimension. Tom likes watching tennis on the telly. Loki likes _The Real Housewives._ Tom likes quiet evenings in his garden. Loki is always begging Tom to take him dancing. Tom likes reading in coffee shops. Loki likes laughing at Youtube videos of people falling down.

 

“Look look look,” he says gleefully, Tom’s laptop open to a video titled _scarlet takes a tumble_. “It’s even better in slow-mo.”

 

“That’s not funny,” Tom says, “She could have seriously hurt herself.”

 

“Ehehehehehe,” Loki cackles.

 

Loki also likes online shopping, as evidenced by the heavy parcel that turns up on Tom’s doorstep some days later.

 

“Loki,” Tom says, “What am I going to do with a _gallon tub_ of KY?”

 

Loki shoots him an _are-you-seriously-asking-me-that_ look.

 

 Tom sighs.

 

“Never mind. Don’t answer that. And stay away from my credit cards.”

 

***

 

At the same time, however, Loki is oddly helpful, in a roundabout way. He’s quiet enough while Tom’s at work, although he hisses like an irate cat every time Michael passes by. He limits his disruptiveness to manageable intervals, which Tom supposes is something of a blessing. Funnily enough, Tom never actually _sees_ him disappear. Sometimes Tom looks up, and Loki is simply...gone. For the most part, he’s like an eye floater: the more you concentrate on him, the more noticeable he is. And other times, he simply _will not be ignored._

 

“Tom?” Loki says.

 

Tom doesn’t even look up from his desk.  “What?”

 

“It’s one forty five. You still haven’t had lunch yet.”

 

Tom checks his watch. His stomach rumbles, drawing his attention. He must have lost track of time….

 

“Oh. Yeah. I’ll go. I just need a few moments to - ”

 

Loki rips the form from underneath Tom’s pen, scrunching it up and tossing it over his shoulder.

 

“Go eat. The cafeteria is closing in fifteen minutes.”

 

“Hey!” Tom says, indignant.

 

“It’s not good to skip meals, Tom. Bad for the metabolism. You have to maintain your blood sugar levels, otherwise you’ll just be famished tonight and gorge on, like, crumpets and jam and shit. Jolly good, old chap. Tally-ho.”

 

Tom shoots Loki a look. He _likes_ crumpets.

 

“ _Fine,”_ Tom huffs. He collects his wallet and sweater. “Stay here and don’t…. _do_ anything.”

 

Tom makes his way down to the cafeteria, and returns ten minutes later with a sandwich and a to-go cup of tea. He eats at his desk, amazed at how hungry he’d actually been. Loki watches him carefully.

 

“Are you satisfied now?” Tom asks, his mouth full of egg salad.

 

“Marginally.” Loki clenches Tom’s frog head stress ball over and over. With every squeeze, the frog’s tongue inflates and shoots out. It had been a gift from Emma from her last trip to Costa Rica. “You know what I’d really like, is if you kicked that Fassy dude in the nuts. What is all this shit? These are his clients.”

 

Tom snorts. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

“Or maybe….” Loki’s voice trails off. “Mum was right, you know.”

 

Tom smacks his lips. It’s strange to hear Loki speak of Mum as…. _their_ mom, but Tom supposes she is, in a way.

 

“About what?”

 

“About asking for a raise. I think you should.”

 

“Psshh.”

 

“I’m serious. Mr. Hopkins likes you, and there is that new opening up in AP once Clive transfers. You should totally go for it.”

 

“I’m not going to ask for a promotion.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because what if he says no?” Tom says. “I’ll look like an idiot.”

 

“Then he says no. At least you tried. I think you underestimate how valuable you are to this company.”

 

Tom sighs. “I’ll think about it.”

 

“You’re too chickenshit, aren’t you.”

 

“I said, I’ll think about it, okay?” Tom snaps, just to get Loki off his back. Loki narrows his eyes, seeing through Tom’s evasion, but doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he looks at a place beyond Tom’s head.

 

“Oh, _hello,”_ Loki says.

 

“What?” Tom says, turning, but he already knows what it is. A knot of dread forms in his stomach. He’d almost forgotten that it’s Wednesday. Tom hastily wipes the sandwich crumbs off his face with his sleeve.

 

“Hey, Tom!” Chris says cheerfully, striding in with a box under his arm.

 

“Oh, ah. Chris. Hey. You’re early,” Tom says dumbly, very keenly aware of Loki still sitting on the desk beside him. Chris does not acknowledge Loki’s presence at all.

 

“Yeah, another driver called in sick so I had to shift my route around a bit. How’s it going?”

 

“Tell him you’re horny,” Loki says, making an artificial, pornographic-sounding moan, “Tell him you want his big Australian cock.”

 

 Tom freezes, eyes wide in horror, but of course Chris makes no reaction whatsoever. He can’t hear him. No one can. That is because Tom is absolutely crazy.

 

Tom’s face burns. Chris just stares blankly at him, utterly oblivious, a faint note of concern on his face.

 

“Tom?”

 

“Fine, fine,” Tom says hurriedly. “I’m fine. Really good. How are you?”

 

“Chris,” Loki moans, rubbing his nipples through his t-shirt. “Oh, Chris.”

 

“You okay, mate? You look a little….off.”

 

“I’m fine.” Tom says again. He accepts the package from Chris’ hands.

 

 Tom signs his name to the sound of Loki’s sex noises and hands Chris back the machine. HIs face burns.

 

“There,” he says. His voice comes out a squeak.

 

Loki whimpers, air humping the desk in mock-ecstasy. “Oh, Chris, yeah. Fucking give it to me. Fucking come up my ass.”

 

“You sure you’re ok?”

 

“I am. I’m just, um, haven’t been sleeping well lately. It’s been a….stressful couple of days. But I’m alright. Thanks though.”

 

 “Alright,” Chris says, although his brow is still furrowed in concern.. “Maybe try some chamomile tea? I know that helps me when I can’t sleep.”

 

“So would riding your dick to exhaustion.” Loki adds. “ _Chriiiiisssssssssss.”_

 

“Yeah,” Tom says. “Thanks. I’ll try that.”

 

Chris smiles, and for a long time, Tom just stares blankly at him, smiling thinly and trying desperately to ignore Loki writhing around beside him. He can feel his neck and cheeks burn hot. He must look like a complete idiot.

 

At length, Chris clears his throat. “Well. Ahem.  I’m running late with my extra stops. I guess see you next week?”

 

“Yeah,” Tom says again. “See you.”

 

“Bye loverrrrr,” Loki croons, waggling his fingers.

 

“Hope you feel better,” Chris calls over his shoulder, and is out the door.

 

Tom waits in silence until he’s gone, then practically pounces.

 

“Was that really necessary?” Tom hisses, crowding Loki against his desk. “I thought you were here to _help_ me!”

 

“I live with you all the fucking time. I have to make my fun _somehow.”_

 

“He probably already thought I was like some dumb teen girl, fawning all over him, getting all flustered and gooey. Now he must think I’m a socially inept weirdo too! Great, Loki. Simply great.”

 

Loki shrugs. “I thought it went pretty well.”

 

“Ugh!” Tom flops down into his exercise ball, huffing in frustration and scrubbing a hand over his face. Loki, thankfully, is quiet at his side.

 

“He might not even be gay,” Tom says wistfully. “I’m probably imagining it.”

 

“Tom,” Loki sighs, patting his shoulder, “As a completely impartial observer, I can honestly say that he’s into you.”

 

Tom scoffs. “You have to say that. You’re my inner desires.”

 

“No, I mean it. Believe you me, I would definitely tell you if I thought you were being retarded.”

 

“Maybe he’s just a really friendly person.”

 

“Nope. He totally has the gay for you.”

 

“Loki,” Tom groans. “Look at him, he’s…..”

 

“Perfect.” Loki finishes. “I know.”

 

“And I’m -”

 

“A goody two-shoes with an pathological inferiority complex. I know. But listen, have you stopped to think that some guys are into that?”

 

Tom shakes his head, although his stomach twists at even the suggestion that it might be true.

 

“I dunno…” Tom says. “I mean…”

 

“Ask him out.”

 

Tom sputters. “I….no. No, I can’t.”

 

“Why not? What do you have to lose? Ask. Him. Out.”

 

“It’s not as easy as that.”

 

“Sure it is. Watch.” Loki assumes a gushing face and raises his voice several octaves. “Oh, Chris. Walking sex god. Father of my future children….. ”

 

Tom shoots him a look.

 

Loki finishes in a pleasant, normal-sounding voice, “......Do you want to grab a drink  with me this weekend?

 

Tom pauses, considering, then shakes his head.

 

“Maybe when I get my braces off….”

 

“God, you and your fucking excuses!” Loki exclaims, overturning Tom’s inbox folder. “He doesn’t care about the braces, dumbass. No one does. It’s all in your head. And Fassy is just a giant dickwad, who cares what he says. Chris likes you. _Like_ likes you. In the totally _I-have-a-raging-hard-on_ kind of way. It’s not my fault your chronic self esteem issues make you incapable of seeing it.”

 

Tom frowns, unconvinced.

 

“You really think so?”

 

“Ummmm…...YEAH. You see how he lingers around your desk? The way he smiles at you, says your name, even though you just fucking stood there and stared blankly at him for like thirty seconds without saying anything like a total dope? Come on. You’re smart, you’re funny, you have a kind heart and a tight ass. Few screws loose, maybe, but who doesn’t these days? I’d frankly be more shocked if he _didn’t_ like you.”

 

Tom grins, despite himself, and almost dares to believe him.

 

“If you’re not careful, Loki, you might start to sound like a halfway decent person.”

 

 “Well,  Fuck.” Loki says. “Did I mention the cut of your pants makes you look like a homo?”

 

***

 

A strange thing began to happen as the weeks rolled on.

 

Tom found himself rather…. _liking_ having Loki around.

 

Sure, he was crude and blunt and often a bit of an asshole, but he sometimes said things that were so disarmingly sweet, Tom can’t help but be cheered a bit. Loki knows all of Tom’s insecurities, and while he would never miss a chance to call Tom any number of colourful and creative names, he never, ever says anything to purposely hurt Tom’s feelings.

 

Loki follows Tom to rehearsals and sits in the audience while they run the play, over and over again.

 

“BOOOOO!” Loki screams as soon as soons as Benedict finishes a scene. “YOU SUCK, OTTERFACE. GET OFF THE FUCKING STAGE.”

 

Tom can hear him across the theatre and grins, despite himself. When Tom runs the lead as understudy, Loki claps.

 

“WOOOO. YEAH, TOM. YEAH. THAT WASN’T TERRIBLE.”

 

“What’s so funny?” Natalie asks.

 

“Nothing, nothing,” Tom says, still giggling. He makes a surreptitious shooing motion with his hand in Loki’s general direction.

 

When Tom misses a line, Loki prompts him. When Tom is about to leave the house without his cell, Loki reminds him. It’s like having a personal assistant, Tom thinks. A personal assistant that calls you a _huge fucking lame-o_ , but nonetheless.

 

In fact, Tom is generally starting to feel better about life, and about himself. It’s almost an afterthought when he wanders, dreamlike, into Mr. Hopkin’s office, and asks to speak to him privately.

 

Tom finally snaps back to reality when he gets back to his cubicle.

 

“I got the job,” he tells Loki, who is sitting on his exercise ball, bouncing like a little kid.

 

“ _Wow,_ ” Loki says. “It’s almost as though when you ask for things like an adult human being, you get them.”

 

“I got the job,” Tom says, still speechless. “I start on Thursday.”

 

“Here, sit,” Loki says, guiding Tom down onto his ball. “Do you need me to make you a cup of tea or some shit?”

 

“I got the job,” Tom gurgles.

 

“Yeah. Okay. Tom, I love you man, but you’re starting to freak me out.”

 

***

 

“Now, all we gotta do is settle Fassy’s hash and we’ll be set.”

 

Tom sighs. He carefully packs his hibiscus into the moving box so it won’t topple over. His cubicle looks so bare now that he’s taken down all the pictures.

 

“We?”

 

“Duh, _we_. I can’t do anything without you.”

 

“No. No hash-settling. I don’t want to get into trouble.”

 

“Why not?” Loki persists. His voice gets syrupy, thick. “ _You know you wanna_.”

 

Tom sighs again. “Just let it go, okay? We’ll be up in AP now, we won’t have to deal with him anymore.”

 

“And leave him to torment the next guy?” Loki exclaims, as if this were truly the most inconceivable and unacceptable proposition ever put forward. “No. No. He’s a homophobic, misogynistic piece of shit and he _must_ be stopped.”

 

“What, you gonna shave him too?”

 

Loki strokes his chin, as if seriously considering it, then shakes his head. “Nah. He’d still be good-looking.”

 

“Loki,’ Tom pleads. “Forget about it, okay? It’s not our problem anymore. I don’t want to get involved. Promise me you won’t do anything.”

 

“He’s hiding something.” Loki says thoughtfully to himself. Tom can practically _hear_ the gears in his mind turning. “No one that douchey can have clean hands.”

 

“ _Promise me.”_

 

Loki turns to Tom, as if suddenly seeing him for the first time.

 

“I promise I won’t hurt him.”

 

“Good,” Tom says.

 

It’s quiet between them for awhile, but the silence is comfortable. Loki helps Tom pack, although in all honesty, Tom must be doing all the work himself, because Loki _doesn’t exist._ Still, it somehow makes the time go by faster, and it is nice to not have to do it alone for once.

 

“Incoming,” Loki says out of nowhere.

 

Tom perks his head up. Chris shoots him a smile from across the office and strides over.

 

“I don’t want to hear a single word from you,” Tom warns.

 

Loki makes an exaggerated zipper motion over his lips.

 

“Hi, Tom! Hey,What’s going on here?” Chris says, taking stock of Tom’s now noticeably bare cubicle walls, the boxes at Tom’s feet. “You’re moving or something?”

 

“Hi Chris,” Tom says. “Yeah. But not far. Just up a floor.”

 

“Banished, then?” Chris teases. “Pissed off some bigwig?”

 

Tom blushes. He never liked bragging about himself. Softly he says, “Actually, I got promoted.”

 

Chris’ face instantly lights up. He claps Tom’s shoulder, “You did? Hey man! That’s great! Congratulations!”

 

“Thanks,” Tom says, grinning. “It’s pretty exciting. I’ll have my own office now. With actual walls. And my own fax machine. _”_

 

Loki snorts.

 

“Wow,” Chris laughs, his eyebrows shooting up. “A fax machine! Well that _is_ cause for celebration!”

 

“Yep! Moving up in the world.”

 

“Literally.” Chris says, and Tom cocks his head.

 

“‘Cos it’s up a floor. Eh? Eh? Moving _up_ in the world?? Ba Doom Pish. I’ll show myself out.”

 

Tom can practically _hear_ Loki’s eyeroll, but laughs anyway. “No, I like it.”

 

“Wait, does that mean this is the last time I’ll get you to sign for me?” Chris pouts as Tom hands him back the signature machine.

 

Tom’s face falls somewhat. He hadn’t considered that. “You can’t go up an extra floor?”

 

Chris points to the address on the box. “It says, Accounts receivable, mate. Third floor. _Third Floor._ And In case you hadn’t noticed, I take this job _very seriously._ There is a special circle in hell reserved for drivers who deliver their packages to the wrong department. It’s called, package handling duty. _”_ Chris visibly shudders.

 

“That’s too bad,” Tom says, and is surprised at how crushed he is at the thought of not seeing Chris every week.

 

“Aw, well. That’s how it goes sometimes, innit.”

“Ask him out,” Loki hisses somewhere behind him, “Ask him out.”

 

“Well,” Chris says, clearing his throat. He shuffles his feet and adjusts his UPS cap.

 

“Ask. Him. Out.” Loki hisses. “Now. Do it now.”

 

“I guess I’ll maybe see you around?” Chris says.

 

“He’s fucking stalling. Do it. C’mon.”

 

“Yeah,” Tom squeaks. “See you.”

 

“Really, congratulations, Tom. I’m so happy for you.”

 

“Thanks,” Tom says.

 

Chris nods once, then hesitantly turns towards the door.

 

“You going to let him get away like that??” Loki hisses.

 

“I can’t, Loki,” Tom whispers, resigned. “I just, I can’t.”

 

“Oh, fuck me,” Loki says. “I know girl scouts with bigger nuts than you. CHRIS!!!!”

 

Chris turns. It’s only then that Tom realizes he’d used his own voice to call Chris’ name from across the office.

 

“Uh,” Tom says, suddenly very hot under the collar. Chris stares at him expectantly. Tom’s mouth opens and closes twice before any words even come out.

 

“Listen. Um. If you can’t find someone to sign for you on this floor, you should text me. Y’know. For UPS delivery related emergencies.”

 

Loki groans behind him, _really, really, that’s what you’re going with?_

 

Chris’ face breaks out into a huge grin. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Tom says, his ears burning. He scribbles his cell number on the back of a business card. “This is my card, and uh, my cell. Y’know. Just in case. Wouldn’t want you to accidentally misdeliver and get sentenced to ten year’s hard package handling. Ehehehehe.”

 

Tom fully expects Chris to blow him off, because who is he fooling anyway, Chris is literally _god-like,_ and fucking asshole Loki got him into this, and fuck fuck fuck Tom has just mortified himself beyond the point of no return, maybe he should just jump off a bridge and die….

 

\- But instead, Chris’ smile only deepens.

 

“Thanks mate,” Chris says, eyes twinkling as he takes the proffered card and flicks it once between his fingers. He waves an arm across the bustling office, “There is literally _no one else_ on this floor. I would have been in such a huge pickle, Tom, you have no idea.”

 

“Happy to help,” Tom says, His knees shake precariously. “Anytime. Text me.”

 

“Hey, I could even fax you!” Chris says. “That the number there?”

 

Tom chuckles. “How very ninties retro of you.”

 

“I guess I’m just an old-fashioned kind of guy,” Chris declares, winking, and tucks the card into his front pocket. Tom might faint.

 

“Well, I gotta run. But yeah, I’ll definitely take you up on that sometime.”

 

Tom smiles. “Yeah, for sure. See you.”

 

Chris waves goodbye. “Best of luck, Tom. Cheers.”

 

“Well done,” Loki says, clapping slowly as soon as Chris is out of sight.. “Oh ho ho, bravo, Tom, you smooth bastard. That was like watching poetry in action. I’m frankly a little turned on.”

 

Tom groans, covering his face. “I embarrassed myself, didn’t I?”

 

“Yeah. A bit, yeah.”

 

“He was probably just humoring me.” Tom says miserably. “He’s not going to text.”

 

“No, he’s not.” Loki says. “He’s going to _fax_.”

 

Tom scoffs. “He was just joking around about that.”

 

“See, I don’t think so, cos here’s the thing,” Loki says, leisurely popping a caramel into his mouth, “Underneath all that delicious premium Australian manmeat, deep down, in his heart of hearts, Chris is just a huge fucking dork.“

 

“Like me,” Tom says, half to himself.

 

Loki nods. “Like you.”

 

 

***

 

Tom settles into his new office, fawning over his new fern and bland landscape painting as though they were the treasures of Tutankhamun’s tomb. The view’s not much, but at least it’s an actual office - with a closing door! - instead of a cubicle.

 

Gleefully, Tom organizes his stationary and personal effects in his new desk and filing cabinets. He aligns his pens perfectly perpendicular to the desk’s edges, and makes sure his file folders are colour coordinated.

 

“The rod up your butt must have a rod up its butt.” Loki tells him.

 

Even so, Tom can tell Loki’s enjoying this. Inside the privacy of Tom’s office, they can talk more freely to each other without Tom appearing……...well, crazy. Tom knows objectively that Loki doesn’t exist, but somehow, he could swear Loki’s fond of him too. As far as hallucinogenic alter-egos go, he’s not bad company.

 

Tom’s heart leaps every time the fax machine whirs, every time his cell phone beeps. He hadn’t heard from Chris since their last meeting  and he’s starting to worry.

 

“OH MY GOD!” Loki exclaims, standing over the fax machine, holding a newly printed sheet.

 

Tom knocks over his desk chair in a scramble to make it to the fax machine.

 

“What? What? What is it?”

 

“Twenty-five pounds to fix your windshield over at Klondike Pete’s? Wow!”

 

Tom’s shoulders slump.

 

“That’s a fucking good deal, man! You should take advantage of that.”

 

“I really hate you sometimes,” Tom grumbles.

 

Loki just laughs.

 

 

***

 

As it turns out, Tom needn’t have worried. Chris’ fax comes, as Loki predicted,  Friday morning at exactly nine-forty seven.

 

The note is on UPS stationary. In chicken-scratch handwriting is written,

 

_Popping your fax cherry!_

 

_Celebrate your “moving up”, drinks at The Black Dog, Sat at 9? On me :)_

 

_Cheers,_

 

_Chris_

 

“Aha!” Loki says triumphantly, waving the paper in Tom’s face. “Did I not tell you? _Did I not fucking tell you?_ Damn, I’m good!”

 

“Oh my god,” Tom says, grabbing the paper from Loki’s hands excitedly and clutching it to his chest. “Oh my god! Ehehehehe! I can’t believe it! I seriously can’t believe it! I - ow!” Tom rubs his cheek where Loki had slapped him.

 

“Chill, man. Fuck. You’ll hurt yourself.”

 

Tom can’t erase the dopey grin on his face. “What do I do now?”

 

“Fax him back.”

 

Tom narrow his eyes, unsure.

 

“Yes, really. This is like, pure rom-com manic pixie dream boy-type shit. How adorably quirky of you! Let's go for a tour of the city on Vespas! R-O-T-F-L-M-A-O. Holds up spork.”

 

Tom blinks. “What?”

 

“Never mind. Just -” Loki grabs the paper from Toms hands and sets it on the desk. He scribbles a reply on the bottom in Tom’s own handwriting.

 

“Okay. Wait an hour, then send it. You don’t wanna come off as desperate.”

 

“I _am_ desperate.”

 

“One hour.” Loki says. “Minimum. Then we are going _shopping.”_

 

***

 

“Wow.” Tom says, turning in his foyer mirror. “I look - “

 

“Like me,” Loki says proudly, smoothing out jacket. “Pretty damn good, if I do say so myself.”

 

Tom stares at himself, turning his way and that for better angles. In his new leather jacket and slicked back curls, he looks….adult. Sophisticated. Almost _sexy._

 

That is, until he opens his mouth.

 

Tom deflates. Who is he trying to fool? Maybe he should reschedule for when he gets his braces off……..

 

“Don’t even fucking say it,” Loki snarls, reading his mind. “I will titty-twist you _so hard,_ I swear to God,the Queen of England will feel it. _”_

 

Tom fidgets with his sleeve, unsure.

 

“Do you want him?”

 

“Yes?” Tom answers, unsure of where Loki is going with this.

 

“I said, DO YOU WANT HIM??”

 

“Yes. Yes!”

 

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU, THOMAS. DO YOU FUCKNG WANT HIM??  


“Ow! YES! Yes I want him!”

 

“YOU GOING TO GO GET HIM?”

 

“Ah! YES!”

 

“YOU GOING TO HAVE A VERY PLEASANT, MUTUALLY SATISFYING FIRST DATE OR ARE YOU GOING TO WUSS OUT LIKE A BIG FUCKING BABY?”

 

Tom makes a whimpering noise. “NO. NO, I AM GOING TO GO OUT AND HAVE A LOVELY TIME.”

 

“CAN YOU DO THIS, TOM?”

 

“YES!”

 

“YES I CAN. SAY IT.”

 

“YES I CAN!”

 

“AGAIN. COME ON. SAY IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT.”

 

“YES I CAN. YES I CAN!”

 

“THAT’S MY BOY!” Loki smacks his ass. “GO GET HIM, TIGER!”

 

“YEAH! FUCK YEAH!” Tom exclaims, striding out the front door into the absolute quiet of the night. He pauses, blinking.

 

“Hey, Tom,” Mark pokes his head over the hedges. “First date jitters?”

 

***

 

Tom isn’t sure why he ever hesitated. Accepting this date was by far the best decision he’s made in recent memory, and that’s including installing his new retractable garden hose.

 

Chris is funny, and charming, and _gorgeous,_ and disarmingly sweet _,_ and frankly Tom cannot believe how well this is going. He even tells Tom he looks nice. Tom almost believes him.

 

He also seems to be genuinely interested in Tom’s life - about his family, his cat, his time at the University of Cambridge, even the stupid community play he’s in. Tom can’t think of a time when he’d talked more about himself. And it’s nice, Tom admits selfishly, to have someone like Chris pay so close attention to him. But he wants to learn more about Chris too, get to know him and find out what all his tattoos mean, what he likes and dislikes, just…. _everything_.Tom gets the basics well enough - middle child, two brothers, immigrated from Australia as a teen, parents divorced - but everytime he tries to turn the conversation more meaningfully in Chris’ direction, Chris evades the topic and steers the spotlight back on Tom. It’s...odd.

 

“So what about you?” Tom asks outright, hoping to coax some information out of him. “What’s your story? We’ve been yaking on about me, and you’ve hardly said anything at all about yourself.”

 

Chris smiles, but it is tense, close-lipped. He picks at the label on his beer bottle.

 

“Ah, well. I’m not very interesting. I just go to work, go to the beach, work out. Nothing as exciting as what you’ve got going on.”

 

Ha! The most exciting thing Tom’s got going on right now is Loki, and he isn’t about to tell Chris about _that._

 

 “I’m sure that’s not true. You call being an accountant exciting? Pshhhh.”

 

Chris’ face turns somber.

 

“Tom, there’s something you should know about me.” he says, his leg jttering under the table.

 

 Tom brain goes haywire.

 

_Oh god._

 

_He’s married._

 

_He’s not actually gay._

 

_He’s a hallucination._

 

“I, um, just got out of prison a few years ago.”

 

“Oh,” Tom says, taken aback. “ _Oh.”_

 

Chris sighs, and begins his story in earnest - of how he’d grown to his size by the time he was sixteen and developed a cocky, arrogant attitude to match. He felt invincible, partying hard and crashing harder. He always had problems with authority, he said. He fell in with some bad people and finally found himself in prison at age nineteen on drug, vandalism and theft charges. At twenty-three, he spent the worst night of his life detoxing off coke in a holding cell, alone, terrified. It was his rock bottom - the night he finally decided to turn himself around.

 

He got his GED in prison and was released a few years early on good behavior. Life on the outside was hard, but Chris had managed to stay clean, although he had to cut ties will all his old friends and contacts. He’s still trying to quit smoking, he says. It’s a work in progress.

 

“So I’m kind of starting my life over.” Chris finishes, sweeping his hair back with a sigh. “And it’s hard, cos a lot of companies won’t even interview an ex-con, let alone hire one. I’m lucky to have this job. I hate telling people. It fucking sucks. I just…..want to move on.”

 

And in that moment, he simply looks so _sad,_ like a dejected golden retriever. A giant, dejected golden retriever in need of a good home.

 

_Can I keep him? Can I?_

 

“I thought you should know before this goes any further. But I’d understand if you wanted to stop seeing me. I know it makes people uncomfortable. Sorry,” Chris says, looking at his beer.

 

 Tom’s empathy meter goes into overdrive.

 

“No! No, of course not,” Tom blurts out before he can help himself. “Don’t be sorry. So you made a few wrong turns? We all make mistakes. It’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

 

Chris looks up, a bit heartened.

 

“Do I have to be embarrassed about my braces?”

 

Chris shakes his head, smiling. “That’s different.”

 

“You told me it was admirable that I had them done. It’s always admirable when people try to improve themselves, to learn and grow and become better people. Right?”

 

“I guess so,” Chris says.

 

“That stuff, it’s all in the past. I don’t care about that. All that matters is that you’re doing your best to make your life better in the here and now. It takes a lot of strength to pick yourself up and try again, even when it feels impossible and there are so many roadblocks in your way. You’re a good guy, Chris, and I,” Tom gulps. “I like you. I still like you. In fact I think I might like you even more.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Tom finishes, feeling rather silly for blurting all that out in one go. He needs to learn to _pace_ himself, god.

 

It’s worth it, however, when Chris’ smile goes nuclear. He grabs Tom’s hand and gives it a squeeze.

 

“I like you, too, Tom.”

 

 

***

 

The rest of the evening is just as agreeable; after Chris makes his confession he relaxes, his smile loose and easy. While Tom always found Chris attractive, learning of his flaws somehow seemed to only intensify his natural brightness, rather than diminish it.

 

The evening passes so quickly, Tom can hardly believe it when he checks the time and it’s past midnight.

 

“Well, I hate to say it, but I think I gotta call it a night,” Chris says, looking at his watch. He waggles his eyebrows. “I kind of have to work in the morning.”

 

“What? I didn’t know that! I wouldn’t have kept you up so late. I’m so sorry.”

 

Chris laughs. “It’s fine, Tom. I wouldn’t have stayed out if I didn’t want to.”

 

They settle the bill (Chris pays, despite Tom’s objections; the only reason Tom lets him get away with it is with the promise that he’ll foot the bill next time) and make their way to the parking lot.

 

“You okay to drive?” Tom asks.

 

“Oh, I live nearby. I was just going to walk.”

 

“I could drop you off,” Tom offers.

 

“Nah,” Chris waves his hand. “It’s close. And I don’t mind the walk, really. It clears my head.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Yeah. Thanks though.”

 

“Alright,” Tom says, although he doesn’t like it. Mostly he just doesn’t want this night to end, and would do about anything to prolong their time together.

 

“I had a nice time with you, tonight, Tom.” Chris says. “Really.”

 

Tom’s heart flutters. “Me too. With you, I mean. I had a nice time with you too.”

 

Chris laughs, and before Tom knows it, he’s being kissed.

 

***

 

Tom slides into the seat of his Civic and rests his head on the steering wheel. His heart is still thumping so hard with residual nerves and adrenaline. He hadn’t been on a date like that in…...ever. Tom has always been unreasonably hard on himself, but even _he_ can tell that that went almost _unnaturally_ well.

 

“Fuck,” he says, grinning maniacally to himself. His eyes slit open a crack to look at Loki, who is sitting in the passenger seat. “How was that?”

 

“That’ll do pig,” Loki says seriously. “That’ll do.”

 

***

 

Tom grins randomly to himself all through the week - at his desk, at the grocery store, in the wings of the theatre during rehearsals. Even Kenneth’s critique isn’t enough to faze him.

 

“That was good, Tom, but I need _more,”_  Ken says from the front row, as soon as Tom’s finished a major scene from the third act. “Push it. Don’t be afraid to let go. You have to make sure to exaggerate the difference in Jekyll and Hyde’s characters, make it obvious to the audience which of them you are.”

 

Ugh, It’s easier for him to say. He’s not trying to embody a late nineteenth century gentleman while donning adult braces. How is Tom supposed to fully immerse himself in the character when he can practically _feel_ his teeth shifting around in his mouth?

 

Nonetheless, everything else is looking up. The job is going well, Loki is more subdued than usual, and Michael can’t even torment him as much while he’s stuck down in AR. Best of all, is Tom’s budding relationship with Chris. They go for drinks, go for walks, spend hours talking and laughing. Chris even barges into Tom’s office one Wednesday just for a quick impromptu (and incredibly unprofessional) office make-out session. In a fit of passion, he even swipes all of Tom’s stuff off the top of his desk, the way they do in bad rom-coms. The thing is, Tom is rather anal with his things, so there isn’t much on his desk to begin with - a few pens, the AR report he'd been working on, a stapler, the frog stressball.

 

Tom raises his eyebrows.

 

Chris says, “I think this means you have to do me now.”

 

Not only that, but Chris isn’t afraid to hold Tom’s hand in public. Tom may or may not have almost cried the first time it happened. The last man Tom dated wasn’t so comfortably out, which made Tom feel more like a shameful secret than a boyfriend. You know the type - one of those guys who was all chummy and sweet when he wanted to get his dick sucked, but always made excuses as to why he wouldn't take Tom out to meet his friends.

 

Well. Chris is happy to be seen with him, even if Tom still has his braces.

 

Some of the best evenings together are spent back at Tom’s condo, on the patio round back, drinking wine and beer and eating bad takeaways.

 

Chris opens up more about his life, about his struggles as a kid and the missteps he’d made as an adult. But he also perks up excitedly about astronomy - something of a hobby of his. His childlike enthusiasm is both endearing and contagious, and Tom listens, enthralled, to Chris yak on about supernovas and black holes. He’s saving up for a telescope, he says, to take to the beach on clear nights, away from all the light pollution of the city. 

 

“Couldn’t stargaze in prison,” Chris says, staring up at the sky. “You don’t realize how much you take little things like that for granted.” He looks over, frowning. “I hope I’m not boring you.”

 

“No! No,” Tom says hurriedly. “I like hearing you talk about it!”

 

Chris scratches his neck shyly, “I’m not an expert or anything. It’s just something I do for fun…..”

 

He says this as though he were expecting Tom to blow him off or make fun him, like _what could this uneducated convict possibly know about general relativity, who does he think he is?_ Tom thinks Chris is as self-conscious about being thought of as _stupid_ as Tom is about his braces.

 

“Well, you certainly seem to know what you’re talking about! I’d love it if you took me out stargazing with you, once you get your telescope.”

 

“Really?” Chris perks up. “You’d be interested?”

 

“Of course!” Tom exclaims, “I never really thought about it much, but - it’s kind of like poetry. _We are all made of stardust,_ as you said. It’s beautiful.”

 

“Just think about it,” Tom goes on, “Night time picnic on the beach, a canopy of stars, you, me, sand getting into questionable places…”

 

Chris laughs, and kisses Tom enthusiastically on the lips, and agrees to one day take him out for just that purpose.

 

In short, Loki was right. Chris _like-_ likes him. Tom is beginning to realize that Loki is right about a lot of things.

 

This is never more obvious to him than when they move inside to watch a movie, but spend most of the film pawing at each other and making out like randy teenagers.

 

Tom sweeps over the broad expanse of muscle and groans, pulling Chris into a deeper kiss. Chris tastes like the Cheetos he brought in lieu of popcorn, and damn it, Tom _wants_ him.

 

Emboldened, Tom climbs into Chris’ lap, which at first makes him feel silly, but Chris only breathes his name in approval. Tom is both stunned and _thrilled_ to feel Chris hard underneath him. There is no accounting for taste, truly.

 

Tom is nervous and excited and completely awestruck, all at once. He wants so badly for Chris to like him, because Tom really, _really_ likes him, and he’s always been something of a people-pleaser by nature. He would do whatever Chris wanted, act out any weird kink or fantasy if it only meant he could _have this._

 

“What do you want?” Tom says huskily, breaking their kiss.

 

Chris’ eyes are dazed, mouth parted, and his lips are bitten pink. He’s so unbearably beautiful, Tom almost feels the need to look away. It’s like staring into the sun.

 

“Do you want me to suck you?” Tom rubs at Chris’ clothed cock between them, “Cos I would.”

 

“Tom,” Chris chokes out, “You don’t have to…”

 

“I want to. I want to make you feel good.”

 

 _I would do anything for you,_ Tom almost adds. It’s the truth, but he doesn’t want to freak Chris out so early in their relationship. Tom often gets himself in trouble for saying things like that to the wrong people. But Chris is different. Chris is sweet and kind and would never take advantage of him.

 

Chris groans, his willpower rapidly eroding. “Okay. Fuck, yeah, okay.”

 

Needing no furthur prompting, Tom sinks between Chris’ thighs and fumbles awkwardly with his fly. He feels so hot around the neck, pulling out Chris’ leaking cock like this, on his knees, bracketed by Chris’ massive legs. It is as long and thick and as _gorgeous_ as Tom imagined. Tom strokes him a few times experimentally so that the head is exposed with each downwards stroke.

 

Tom hazards a glance up at Chris, but quickly flits his eyes back downward. If he thinks too much on this he’ll jinx himself.

 

Tom licks a stripe up Chris’ cock, cupping the balls in one hand, but then suddenly pauses, unsure and self-conscious.

 

“Is it weird with the -”

 

“No. N-no, Tom.” Chris says shakily. “No, it’s good. You look good. Keep going.”

 

Gently, Chris tugs the back of Tom’s head downward, and Tom goes, his lips stretching obscenely around the thick length. Tom bobs his head, swirling his tongue along the underside and sucking on the head. Chris is big, so Tom can’t handle much of him, but tries to compensate by keeping his hand around the base and stroking him in time with the rhythm of his head.

 

“Fuck,” Chris groans above him. “ _Tom.”_

 

Tom only intensifies his efforts, diving in with almost rabid enthusiasm. He wants so badly to get Chris off, to make him happy.

 

 _Like me,_ Tom thinks desperately. _Please, like me. Love me._

 

Tom moans around his cockhead, loving how Chris’ huge hands card through his hair encouragingly, guiding him up and down, but never forcing Tom to take more than he can handle. There’s so much power in his grip, so much _restrained strength,_ Tom shivers at the thought of what it would be like if Chris were rougher.

 

“Tom, can you just,” Chris says, pulling Tom up so that Tom’s mouth is just barely open against the head of his dick. He reaches down to thumb at Tom’s lips, and even grazes the tips of his fingers along Tom’s braces wonderingly.  “Oh, fuck.”

 

Tom averts his gaze, disliking having his teeth exposed. Sensing his discomfort, Chris takes Tom’s face in both hands and curls over to kiss him deeply. Tom is taken off guard by the gesture - Christian never did that after Tom had given him head.

 

“Keep going, babe,” Chris says breathily. “You look great.”

 

Tom does, redoubling his efforts, sucking hard and bobbing his head until his jaw aches and spit is dripping down his chin. Chris groans, throwing his head back.

 

“I’m going to come,” Chris warns. His hips buck wildly, and although Tom is certain he didn’t do it on purpose, it still makes Tom gag. “Tom, I’m going to - “

 

 _Yes,_ Tom thinks. _Do it. Come on._

 

The first spurts take Tom by surprise - hot and salty on his tongue, coating the back of his throat. Tom keeps going, determined to give Chris as much pleasure through his orgasm as possible. He swallows around the head of Chris’ dick until Chris’ spasms and curses cease. At length, Chris slumps back, his softening cock sliding out from Tom’s mouth. Whereas Chris looks dreamy, mellow, and blissed-out, Tom is certain he must be a mess - there’s still spit and come dripping down his chin, and even wetness along his eyelashes from when he’d struggled to take down too much of Chris’ cock.

 

 Still, Tom is, in no uncertain terms, infinitely pleased with himself.

 

_I did that to him. Me. No one else._

 

“Fuck,” Chris says again. In a swift motion, he pulls Tom up off his knees and back onto the couch, and Tom lands sprawled awkwardly in his lap. Chris kisses him, and reaches down to Tom’s crotch, where Tom is, predictably, still hard in his jeans.

 

“Can I?” Chris says, and Tom nods dumbly. Chris reaches into his jeans and fists Tom’s cock, eliciting a ragged pant from Tom’s lips. He’d been so focused on Chris he’d forgotten about his own arousal. Tom comes mere seconds later, bucking into Chris’ hand. He convulses with pleasure and then sags, exhausted, into Chris’ arms. With the edge taken off their lust, they make out lazily, sweetly, roaming their hands all over each other’s bodies.

 

“I’ve never gotten head from someone with braces.” Chris says, grinning dopily. “That was something.”

 

“Oh my god!” Tom covers his face.

 

“I’m teasing,” Chris laughs. “It was amazing, Tom, thank you. I really enjoyed it.”

 

They arrange themselves more comfortably on the couch, on their sides, with Chris spooning Tom from behind. Tom rewinds the movie so they can rewatch all the parts they missed, which as it turns out, was pretty much all of it anyway. Chris slides his arm around Tom’s waist and nuzzles at his neck, and Tom is fairly certain this is what _pure bliss_ feels like.

 

“Tom,” Chris exclaims out of nowhere, _“Is your cat wearing a bow tie???”_

 

***

 

“I think I love him,” Tom tells Loki shortly after he bids Chris goodnight and sees him to the door. Tom is practically floating. Has life always been this amazing? Gah! "I think I want to marry him and have his babies and be his little housefrau.”

 

Tom looks over at Loki, who is staring out his front window watching Chris leave, a strange expression on his face.

 

“Thank you Loki,” Tom says earnestly. “For making this happen. I...I could never have done all this without you. I would have never even thought it possible. You’ve done so much for me, and I’m just - I'm so grateful I conjured you into existence.”

 

Loki finally turns to look at Tom, his face oddly blank. Tom is expecting some kind of snide, snarky reply, but instead, Loki says, “Your opinion may change in a moment.”

 

And everything goes black.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You poisoned him?” Tom’s jaw drops. _“Are you insane???”_
> 
> “Oh that’s rich, coming from you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE THRILLING CONCLUSION!
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who supported this story!!! hope you had a chuckle or two xoxo

Tom wakes up in a daze, with a crick in his neck and a vicious, throbbing headache. He’s not in his bed, he realizes. In fact, he’s not even in his house. Tom is in his car, in the driver’s seat, parked in an unfamiliar run-down part of town. He checks himself in the rearview mirror, and is distraught to see he’s now sporting a split lip. He can’t remember _anything._

 

 Loki is in the passenger seat, grinning madly at him.

 

“Loki?” he murmurs, looking around, trying to stifle his mounting panic. “ _What the fuck?_ What happened?? Where am I?”

 

“Northside,” Loki says.

 

“What? Why?” he checks his car’s time. “It’s _three thirty in the morning!”_  

 

“Yep,” Loki says simply. “It suuuuuure is.”

 

“Is this what you do when I’m asleep?” Tom sputters angrily. “Steal my body and take my car out for...for joy rides _??”_

 

“Yeah, Tom. Yeah. That must be it. I take your 1998 Honda Civic out for _joy rides.”_

 

“ _I’m bleeding!”_ Tom touches his lip gingerly.

 

“Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that,” Loki says, although he doesn’t look it. “Little bit of collateral damage.” He thumbs away the blood and pats Tom’s shoulder good-naturedly. “You’re okay, bud.”

 

“We’re going home,” Tom spits, starting his engine. “This is ridiculous. Where _are_ we anyway? 135th avenue? That’s across town! What is this place -”

 

Loki nods to a brick building in front of them. “Gay bathhouse.”

 

Tom blinks. _“What?”_

 

“Pierre’s. It’s an underground gay bathhouse.”

 

“I am _not_ going into a gay bathhouse in some old run down part of Northside, are you fucking mad?”

 

“I hate to break this to you,” Loki says, “But you already did.”

 

“Loki,” Tom says seriously, fighting his mounting panic, “ _Did I have sexual relations with anonymous men at a gay bathhouse???”_

 

Loki’s eyes crinkle with amusement. “No, Tom. No, you did not have any _sexual relations,_ although quite frankly you could’ve used some. I didn’t bring you here for _you.”_ Loki pauses. “Alright, it’s sort of for you. But I made sure you didn’t get hepatitis.” He whips out Tom’s cell. “Let’s see…..” He presses some buttons, and Tom cranes his neck to see what he’s doing. “Ah. Here we go. You were magnificent, by the way.”

 

“What is this?”

 

Loki smiles. “Don’t talk. Just watch.”

 

Tom squints into the tiny screen. Everything is blurry at first, unfocused. The audio records strange scuffling noises.

 

 _“Hey Fassy!”_ Tom’s voice says on the camcorder, although he’s not in the shot. “ _Michael! Michael Fassbender! Hey, buddy! It’s me! Fancy seeing you here!”_

 

“Oh my god,” Tom says. “I didn’t think -”

 

“Oh yeah.” Loki finishes, an almost manic glint in his eye. “Keep watching.”

 

 _“Tom!”_ comes the horrified reply. Tom can barely make it out on the tinny cell phone speakers. There is a blur of what looks like naked male bodies, scrambling for towels. _“What the fuck??”_

 

Camcorder-Tom chases Michael through what looks like some kind of change room. Michael is naked.and screaming expletives, covering his head with his arms.

 

 _“Everyone already knows I’m a fag,_ ” camcorder-Tom cackles maniacally. God, it’s freakyto hear his own voice speaking words he can’t remember saying. _“But you, Mike, I’m sure your wife Patricia would find this very interesting. Your dad too, Pastor Fassbender down at Holy Trinity Evangelical.”_

 

“ _Are you stalking me? You fucking psycho faggot, get outta my face!”_

 

Michael runs, but camcorder-Tom is hot on his heels. There’s a few moments when everything goes blurry, as if there’s a scuffle. Finally, Tom manages to corner Michael against the locker room walls. Michael’s nose is bleeding now.

 

“I _socked_ him?” Tom says incredulously.

 

Loki’s grin widens. “It gets better.”

 

There’s another flurry of movement, and this time, the screen goes dark, blocked by something, but the audio keeps recording. Tom strains his ears to hear.

 

“ _What do you want,”_ Michael pants. His voice is cracking. “ _Money? What? I’ll pay.”_

 

 _“You can’t buy your way out of this, Mike. Not to me at least. I want to see a receipt for a big ass donation to the Emergency Youth Shelter by next Friday. You know. That safe place for queer kids who are bullied by hypocritical, self-righteous dickheaded bigots like you. And I better fucking see a receipt like that every quarter. Because I swear to god, I don’t give a shit if this gets out. I don’t give a shit if you’re ruined. You’re going to learn some fucking compassion or I will_ destroy _you.”_

 

There is nothing but heavy breathing for awhile.

 

 _What’ll it be?”_ Camcorder-Tom _s_ narls. “ _You want everyone to know that you are what you hate most in the world?”_

 

 _“Fine!”_ Michael says at length, defeated. “ _Fine. I’ll do it. Whatever you want. Just - just don’t, okay?”_

 

 _“You better,”_ Camcorder-Tom says. _“I’m fucking loco, man.”_

 

There’s more noise, some people yelling in the background. The screen flicks back to life - looks like the camera had been dropped face-down on the floor - but everything is choppy and disjointed, as though the person holding it were being jostled about. There’s a flash of Tom’s crazed face and then recording cuts out.

 

Tom sits in stunned silence for several minutes, until long after his cell screen dims from inactivity.

 

“Pretty neat, huh,” Loki says brightly. “Totally worth us getting banned for life.”

 

“Loki…?”

 

Loki bats his eyelashes. “Yeah, buddy?”

 

“How long have you been planning this?”

 

“Oh, I dunno,” Loki shrugs. “Three months, give or take? God, Tom, you have no idea how much _logistics_ went into this - digging up all that dirt, following Michael around at night, hacking into his work computer. I never imagined it would go as well as that, though! Really, Tom. That was brilliant. Just brilliant. See this? I have the biggest justice boner right now.”

 

“I…” Tom’s mouth is dry. “I think I’m going to pass out.”

 

“Okay, champ.” Loki claps his shoulder, beaming. “You earned it.”

 

 

***

 

Tom wakes many hours later, safe in his own bed. His head still throbs, but at least Loki had changed him into his pyjamas and given him a shower. His first instinct is to chalk that up as just another crazy dream, except when he checks his phone, the damning footage is still there.

 

“Fuck,” Tom murmurs, but uploads it onto his computer anyway, and on a flash drive too, just to be sure.

 

And as much as he disapproves of Loki’s unorthodox methods, come Monday, Fassy avoids him like a leper, looking away every time Tom grins in his direction. On Friday, there is a photocopy of the receipt waiting for Tom on his desk, just as Loki-Tom had demanded.

 

“Five thousand pounds???” Tom says incredulously.

 

“Oh yeah,” Loki says. “You scared the shit out of him. You’re _loco,_ man.”

 

Tom looks up at Loki, and for once, his wicked smile outmatches his doppelganger’s.

 

_“Good.”_

 

 

***

 

The date is circled on Tom’s calendar in gaudy red marker. June 12th. The day Tom gets his braces off. This is it. He’s been waiting _three years_ for this.  No, scratch that. He’s been waiting since _fifth grade_ for this.

 

“Ready Mr. Hiddleston?” Dr. Li-Chung asks as Tom sits back in the orthodontist’s chair. “I bet you’ve been looking forward to this for some time.”

 

“Sort of,” Tom says. “Ehehehehe.”

 

Back at home, Tom spends the next twenty minutes simply staring at this teeth, smiling, snarling, contorting his face this way and that. For the first time, he could almost imagine himself as a _serious_ actor, making it big, starring in movies, being on posters. A silly dream, maybe, but a dream that often got him through some of his darkest nights as a gawky, awkward, socially inept teenager. Too often, he’d let his self-consciousness get in the way of truly _living_ life. ‘ _Maybe when my teeth are fixed’_  became his go-to excuse when he was too shy or scared to fight for what he really wanted. Now, there’s nothing holding him back. The world is at his feet, and Tom feels invincible.

 

“I think I’m going to cry,” he tells Loki.

 

Loki checks his watch. “Well, make it quick. You’re meeting Chris in an hour.”

 

***

 

Chris smiles ear-to-ear when Tom strolls up to him on the restaurant patio. Tom can’t help but grin crazily in return, his joy bottomless and irrepressible. He wants _the whole world_ to bear witness to how perfectly straight and white his teeth are.

 

 “You look different…” Chris says, “Have you changed your hair?”

 

Tom punches him playfully in the shoulder, laughing.

 

“You look great, Tom.” Chris says, taking Tom into his arms. “How does it feel?”

 

“Slippery. I can’t stop running my tongue over my teeth!”

 

“Let me see,” Chris says, pulling Tom in for a sloppy tongue-heavy kiss. “Mmm. Tastes the same.”

 

“Ew, Chris!” Tom giggles, but doesn’t resist.

 

“Is it wrong of me that I’m going to miss them?” Chris says later, as they’re walking back to Tom’s place.. “You looked so….sweet.”

 

Tom laughs. “Shut up!”

 

“No, it’s true. You looked so fresh-faced and young and sweet. Now you’re just sexy.”

 

“Oh my _god,_ ” Tom says, but inside he’s soaking Chris’ flattery up like water upon parched earth.

 

“Having you go down on me with them on was the absolute picture of sin.You just looked so…..I dunno. Fuck. I could almost _feel_ Chris Hansen breathing down my neck.”

 

Tom widens his eyes and bats his lashes. “Why, Chris. If I didn’t know better I’d say you have a thing for innocent schoolboys.”

 

Chris shifts. “I’m not sure how to answer that.”

 

“Pervert,” Tom chides, and silences him with a kiss.

 

***

 

If there is one thing Tom should have learned about Loki, it’s that when Loki is not around as often, that means he’s scheming something. Strange dreams, morning headaches, and exhaustion are also bad signs. But the thing is, Tom has been riding cloud nine since the incident with Fassy, and is simply in too good a mood to nose about in his doppelganger’s business. Maybe he should have been paying closer attention.

 

“What the fuck is this??” Tom gapes, opening the door to his garage one morning and finding not his humble Civic, but a _brand new fucking Jaguar_. “Where’s my Honda??”

 

“I think the words you’re looking for are Thank you, Loki. What a lovely surprise.”

 

“Where did you get the money for this?? _Did you steal it??_ ”

 

“I would never!” Loki says, hands in the air in mock offense.“You had, like, thirty grand sitting in your bank account.”

 

“That was -” Tom sputters, “That was for my house renos! I was going to have the roof re-shingled.”

 

“SEE? See why you never get laid?? That’s what I’m talking about. No one gives a shit about shingles.”

 

“It will increase my home’s equity,” Tom mumbles.

 

“Yeah well, this will increase your ass’s likelihood of getting a dick in it. So fucking sit your dumb ass down and smell the leather. Fucking A, man. Fucking A.”

 

“I can’t believe this,” Tom says, although God help him, it _is_ a nice car. “This is beyond the pale, Loki. I’m returning this to the dealership tomorrow. I can’t afford this.”

 

“YOU WILL NOT,” Loki says, and pushes Tom up against the car. For not being real, Loki’s _strong._ “You got that promotion, and you are going to keep this car. You are going to drive it, and enjoy it, because you fucking worked your ass off since you were fourteen and put up with so much shit and you deserve something nice for once. And you are going to take Chris on a date in it, you will get you some dick. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

 

Tom gulps. Aside from the murderous look in Loki’s eye, Tom finds himself almost….touched.

 

“You think so?” He says weakly.

 

“Fuck, man, yeah.” Loki says, releasing him somewhat. “Look, I know I give you a hard time, but you’re a good guy. And I _know_ you’ve always wanted a car like this, so don’t even pretend you don’t want to keep it. Let yourself have this, Tom. You deserve it. Consider it an _I’m-sorry-for-getting-you beaten-up-at-a -gay-bathhouse_ gift.”

 

Tom lets out a breathy, incredulous laugh. There’s a sentence he’d never thought he’d hear.

 

Loki waves a finger in Tom’s face, “Don’t make me get you a ridiculously trashy tramp stamp.”

 

“Fine!” Tom says at length, throwing up his hands. He’s come to realize that there is no point in arguing with Loki. Not that he really wants to in this case, because….well… _he has a motherfucking Jaguar._ “Fine, I’ll - I guess I can figure out a way.”

 

“Atta boy!” Loki says gleefully, slapping Tom’s ass, making him yelp. “Trust me. You won’t regret it! Call this an investment in yourself. In your own mental health and wellbeing. Hashtag: YOLO.”

 

“Yeah,” Tom rolls his eyes. “My mental health.”

 

Loki grins. “Come on, loser, let’s take her for a spin.”

 

***

 

Tom feels like he’s standing in the apartment of a college kid fresh out of uni, rather than that of a fully grown adult man. But then, considering Chris’ circumstances, Tom can’t say he’s all that surprised. Chris had lost about eight years of his youth cycling in and out of prison; it’s not like Tom was expecting a country manor. Chris had clearly done his best to make the place presentable in preparation for Tom’s visit, which Tom finds almost impossibly endearing. It’s like he’s trying to _impress_ him.

 

Chris is a proud man. Although he’s struggling financially, he always refuses Tom’s help, and often insists on buying drinks when they’re out on dates. Tom does not have the heart to refuse. It means a lot to Chris to be able to treat him. Still, Tom tries to (subtly) guide their date ideas in less pricey directions. Tom doesn’t care what they do, so long as they’re together. Which is why, when Chris invited Tom over for supper, Tom jumped at the idea.

 

“Well, it’s not much, but it’s home,” Chris says, pink around the ears. “Yeah. Make yourself comfortable.”

 

“This place is a dump,” Loki says.

 

Tom shushes him and daintily seats himself on the well-worn couch, pleasantly surprised at how cushy it is. Nothing in here matches, and Tom suspects it’s all second-hand. There is a poster of the cosmos on the wall. _Ehehehe_ \- Chris is such a science dork.

 

“Smells great in here!” Tom says. “What’s cooking?”

 

“A certain world-famous Hemsworth lasagna, that’s what.” Chris putters around in his kitchen, checking on the oven. “Which, I think, is almost done. Wine?”

 

“Yeah, that’d be lovely.”

 

“Red or white?” Chris calls from the kitchen.

 

“Red,” Tom answers automatically.

 

“Good, cos that’s all I have,” Chris waggles an eyebrow. He emerges with two glasses and a bottle of Merlot. He pours two generous helpings. “Cheers, mate.”

 

“Cheers,”  Tom agrees, clicking their glasses together. “What should we drink to?”

 

“How about,” Chris thinks, “A good run for your play?”

 

“Naw,” Tom says, blushing. Chris had wanted to come, but Tom had talked him out of it, not wanting Chris to waste his time watching a silly play Tom’s not even in. Instead, Tom says, “How about……..to new beginnings?”  


Chris smiles. “To new beginnings.”

 

The lasagna is, in no uncertain terms, _delicious,_ and Tom tells Chris so, over and over.

 

“I know,” Chris replies haughtily, tucking into a piece roughly the size of a cinder block and chewing noisily. He had no concept of portion control, Tom notes fondly. Chris leans close to Tom conspiratorily, “The secret ingredient is cheese.”

 

“Secret, huh?” Tom laughs, bringing a gooey, stringy forkful to his mouth.

 

“One thing you should never skimp on in life is cheese,” Chris declares, powerding his lasagna with yet more parmesan.“That’s why all my jokes are so bad.”

 

He has sauce on his face.Tom might be in love.

 

“You have a little something…”

 

“What?” Chris rubs his chin with the back of his hand.

 

“No,” Tom giggles, “More, here.”

 

Chris wipes his face some more, spreading it everywhere. He grins, “Like this?”  


“No, more like,” Tom mops Chris’ face sloppily, making it worse. Most of Chris’ beard is now tinted red with tomato sauce. “There, perfect,” Tom sniggers.

 

“Oh my _god,”_ Loki says.

 

Chris makes a kissy face. “How do I look?”

 

“Devastatingly handsome,” Tom says, and it isn’t a lie.

 

“Now give me some sugar!”

 

“Chris!” Tom laughs uncontrollably, and sort of tries to fight him off.

 

Loki hops off the counter where he’d been sitting. “Fuck this, I’m out.”

 

Tom is absolutely stunned that Chris eats his entire portion, and then some. Watching him eat is almost a religious experience. Chris eats fast, and curls his body over his plate almost protectively. Tom wonders if these are habits he’d picked up in prison. Tom still has a million questions about his time in jail, but he senses Chris is sensitive about it, so he doesn’t bring it up.  Chris is _huge_ \- certainly not someone you’d want to mess with - but it’s hard to imagine him as being…. well, _dangerous_. He’s been nothing but a big, cuddly teddy bear to Tom since they started dating.

 

Tom is still picking at his food long after Chris has finished. He’s stuffed but doesn’t want to insult Chris by not clearing his plate.  The wine has gone to his head, and he feels loose and full and giddy.

 

Chris is in the middle of the story of how he was accidentally locked inside a Walmart overnight (“It’s not funny, Tom, I might’ve _died.”)_ when his cell phone begins to buzz on the counter. Chris looks over to check the caller ID.

 

“Sorry, Tom, but I gotta take this,” Chis says, frowning.

 

Tom nods. “Yeah. Sure. Go ahead.”

 

Chris grabs his cell and excuses himself to the next room.

 

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Tom lets out the pent-up giggle that had been building all evening. A knot of nerves and excitement settles in his stomach. Everything is going _so well!_ He’s already itching to move on to the next portion of the evening, get his hands on Chris and be felt up on the couch. Maybe take their relationship to the next level. Who knows…..

 

“You two are disgusting, you know that?”

 

“Yeah,” Tom agrees dreamily.

 

“I’m nauseated. I’m actually, physically nauseated, and I kind of want to take a shower.”

 

Tom smiles lazily. “You like this too, don’t even pretend.”

 

“I’ll like it when you finally get down to fucking. But all this? ” Loki makes an exaggerated gagging noise. “You’re like that couple everyone hates.”

 

“Yep,” Tom sighs, not really listening. A fresh pulse of excitement rushing down his spine. Half to himself, he says, “We’re going to _make love.”_

 

Loki shudders. “Please. For the love of God. Just…..no.”

 

“We’re going to _make sweet, passionate love_ and then declare our love for each other at the point of orgasm.”

 

 “Seriously. Stop.”

 

“On a bed of rose petals, probably.”

 

“Tom, I’m happy for you and all, but if you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m going to puke.”

 

Tom chuckles at Loki’s scowl, but they both fall silent as Chris pads back into the kitchen.  His face has fallen, and already Tom can tell that’s not a good sign.

 

“Everything alright?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Chris says, chewing his lip. “I got called in to work.”

 

“What, at this hour? On a Saturday? Wow, Fedex better step up its game! Eheheh.”

 

“Actually,” Chris shifts uncomfortably, “I work part time as a bouncer at the bar across the street.”

 

“Oh,” Tom says, deflating. “Sorry.”

 

Chris brushes it off with a wave of his hand. “I guess it’s a bit busier than normal, and the patrons are getting kinda rough. Need an extra pair of eyes. They call me in sometimes ‘cos I live so close.” He shifts on his feet, “I hate to do this, but…”

 

“You have to go,” Tom finishes, slumping slightly.

 

“Yeah.” Chris says, sheepish. “I’m so sorry, Tom. You know I’d rather stay here with you. But I just...could use the extra cash this month, and if I don’t go, they might find someone else to take my shifts.”

 

Tom’s disappointed, there is no question about that, but he’s not about to hold it against Chris. He’s just trying to get back on his feet. Tom almost considers _paying_ Chris himself, but that might not exactly go over well: _Chris, I will give you the money if you stay here and have sex with me._

 

Tom smiles reassuringly.

 

 “It’s okay! I understand. Don’t be sorry.”

 

Chris’ brows knot. “You sure? Cos I can call them back and tell them…”

 

“No!” Tom exclaims.  “Of course not! We’ll pick this up another time. It’s fine, Chris. Really.”

 

Chris frowns, clearly disappointed too.

 

“I’ll make it up to you, babe, I promise,” Chris says, kissing Tom on the lips. He presses a hand to Tom’s chest, keeping him from rising. “There’s no rush, finish your supper, have more wine, relax. There’s ice cream in the freezer. I probably won’t be back until late, but you can sleep here, if you like….”

 

“Guh,” Tom says. “I mean, thank you, but I really have to get home tonight. Ringo won’t be a happy kitty if he’s not fed. He’s been sore enough with me as it is.”

 

“Okay,” Chris says. “Well, the door locks behind you if you twist the thingie before you close it. Stay as long as you like. I expect this _entire lasagna_ to be gone when I get back.”

 

 Tom chuckles and pats his stomach. “I will do my best.”

 

 Chris grabs his keys and his wallet. “I’ll text you, okay?”

 

“Oka - unf!”  Tom is muffled by another kiss, then laughs. “Go! Just Go! Yeesh!”  


Chris grins. “Later, sweet cheeks.”

 

As soon as he’s out the door, Tom lets out a sigh, sinking into his chair. He feels a full-blown pout coming on.

 

“Well this sucks,” he mopes, somewhat selfishly. He had been looking forward to this all week, and after tonight, he’ll be too busy with the play to see Chris.

 

“You were probably going to get laid, too.” Loki says, ever helpful.

 

Tom picks at his food half-heartedly.  “Can’t you do something?”

 

“You want me to somehow _unbusy_ the bar so Chris is sent home?”

 

“No,” Tom says, then pauses. “Could you do that?”

 

“That depends,” Loki says airily.

 

“On what?”

 

“On how you feel about calling in a terrorist threat.”

 

Tom huffs, scrubbing a hand over his face. He has to stay at least until the buzz from the wine wears off. Maybe an hour or so. Tom is usually hit hard and fast by alcohol, but the effects usually fade away just as quickly. He gulps down the rest of his water to speed along the process. Without Chris here, Tom feels sort of like he’s trespassing.

 

Well, might as well wash up while he’s waiting.

 

He puts away the rest of the lasagna and soaks the pan in hot water. It’s all crusted over with cheese, so it takes some elbow grease to scrub it clean. Loki watches him wordlessly, shaking his head.

 

“You’re like, a mother’s wet dream.”

 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Tom says, rinsing the suds off. “My boyfriends’ mothers always loved me.”

 

“When they bothered to introduce you, that is.” Loki says, one eyebrow raised. “No offense Tom, but you’ve picked some real charmers in the past.”

 

Tom sighs. “Well, Chris isn’t like that.”

 

“He’s not,” Loki says. “But he’s no saint either.”

 

Loki approaches where Tom is bent over the kitchen sink, and breathes into his ear from behind.

 

“Aren’t you at least _a little_ curious about his prison stint? About his life on the wrong side of the law?” Loki’s voice goes low, “Maybe he was the school bad boy, smoking cigarettes in the loo and starting fights. Getting high and sneaking into R-rated movies. Going down on a girl while her parents sleep next door. _Come on._ Where’s the fun of dating an ex-con if you aren’t going to explore that a little? ”

 

“He doesn’t like talking about it,” Tom says, ignoring the shiver down his spine. “And it doesn’t matter, anyway. That’s not who he is now.”

 

“I dunno,” Loki says, sing-song.  “You can take the boy out of the prison-yard, but you can’t take the prison-yard out of the boy. Maybe it’s in his genes. You know. _Australians._ ” His face breaks out into a wild, mischievous grin, “Let’s look in his room!”  


“Loki no!” Tom says, horrified. “We mustn’t _snoop.”_

 

“I didn’t say _snoop,_ I said _look.”_ Loki calls over his shoulder, and disappears down the hall.

 

“Ugh!” Tom exclaims, trailing after him, although he’s not sure why. It’s not like Loki can _do_ anything.

 

…..

 

…...Can he?

 

“Loki!” Tom hisses, standing awkwardly in the doorway of Chris’ bedroom. “What are you doing? Get outta there!”

 

“Chill, man,” Loki says casually, “We’re just _looking,_ no harm done _.”_

 

Tom does, and frankly, there’s not much to see: there’s just an unkempt bed with rumpled covers, a nightstand, a dresser. The closet is open and is overflowing with dirty laundry. Chris has a small bookshelf beside his bed, filled with what looks like fantasy and sci-fi novels. _A Dance of Dragons_ lies open and face down on his nightstand.

 

“Well, that’s enough _looking_ now. Let’s _go.”_

 

This is also a ridiculous thing to say, because it’s not like Tom can _leave_ Loki here.

 

“Oh my god, he met Neil Degrasse Tyson!” Loki says, pointing to a framed picture on the dresser. “Ehehehehehe! What a fucking dork.”

 

“Loki,” Tom sighs, exasperated, “Can we just-”

 

“These must be his brothers,” Loki says, picking up another picture frame. He hums in approval. “My, my. The Hemsworths come from fine stock.”

 

Intrigued, Tom shuffles into the room and peeks over Loki’s shoulder.

 

“Oh, wow,” Tom says. They’re all attractive men, but Tom must have hearts in his eyes, because no-one could possibly hold a candle to his Chris.

 

“See? Isn’t this _fascinating?_ ” Loki sets the picture frame down. “I feel like we’re in his native habitat. The mythical _Christophorus Hemsworthius,_ apex predator, alpha male, whose diet consists mainly of,” Loki bends down and picks up a crinkly wrapper, “Pop-tarts. He eats Pop-tarts in bed. Pop-tarts, Tom. He’s thirty-one.”

 

Tom is struck with a tidal wave of fondness. _“I love him.”_

 

“Yeah, well, you’ll be singing a different tune when you get crumbs up your buttcrack as he’s fucking you.” Loki moves towards his nightstand, “The _real_ fun stuff is probably in here…”

 

“Loki, no,” Tom pleads, reaching out to stop him. “We really shouldn’t be invading his privacy like this. He trusted us. Well, me. And I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize our relationship. Please. Just - back off, okay?”

 

Loki pauses, clearly unimpressed, then shrugs.

 

“Suit yourself,” He says, then flops on the bed with a mighty oomph. “But don’t come crying to me if he springs some crazy-ass BDSM shit on you. Could’ve had some forewarning, but eh. It’s your ass _.”_ Loki pats the bed emphatically in invitation, and grins at Tom’s dour face. “Jeez, Tom. Relax! You stress out too much, you know that?”

 

Tom purses his lips. Chris _did_ say he could spent the night, if he wanted to…he couldn’t have meant on the couch, surely.

 

“You’ll be spending a lot of time on your back here anyway. Might as well get a feel for it.”

 

“Fine,” Tom says, gingerly laying himself down at Loki’s side. Chris’ bed _is_ astoundingly comfortable. Tom inhales, and it even smells like him: warm, musky, masculine, a faint hint of his cologne. Tom wants to just cocoon himself inside until all his ridiculous problems go away.

 

“Wonder what Chris does in here.” Loki says idly.

 

“Jerks off thinking about me,” Tom rolls his eyes. “Probably.”

 

“Probably,” Loki agrees. He makes a jerking motion in front of his dick and moans Tom’s name.

 

Tom whacks Loki multiple times with a nearby pillow. “I was kidding, your perv!”

 

“Really? Really? You want to go?!” Loki exclaims, wrenching the pillow from Tom’s grip and hitting him back. “Oh, it’s _ON.”_

 

“Loki! No!” Tom squeals as he is thwacked repeatedly. He covers his face protectively with his arms. “Eheheheheh! Fucking stop, you psycho!”

 

“SAY UNCLE,” Loki shouts, barraging Tom with pillow blows.

 

 “Ow! That hurt!”

 

Loki somehow climbs up over Tom, sitting over his legs and pinning him down. He pummels Tom’s head over and over. “SAY UNCLE.”

 

Tom is breathless and giggling uncontrollably, but somehow manages to rear up and pry the pillow from Loki’s grip. He grabs Loki by the shoulders and throws him back down, reversing their positions.

 

“YOU say uncle!”

 

Loki wriggles underneath him, trying to shove him off, but Tom’s hold is firm. Eventually, Loki stills.

 

“Say it,” Tom says smugly.

 

“That’s more like it,” Loki purrs, a sly smile twisting his lips. “Now slap me across the face and call me a bitch.”

 

“Ugh!” Tom says, rolling off Loki. He’s almost fond when he says, “You’re a fucking weirdo, I hope you know that.”

 

“I’m not the one who just had a pillow fight with myself.”

 

“With a _hallucination_ of myself, thank you very much. And _won._ ”

 

Loki looks over at him, smiling crookedly. Then, he laughs.

 

They lay side by side for a few moments in comfortable silence. Tom feels mellow and sleepy. If only he’d thought to feed Ringo before he left home - that’s one mistake he won’t be making again. In his mind’s eye, he can visualize Chris coming in and crawling into bed with him, pressing the length of his massive body against Tom’s back, kissing his neck, reaching around to rest his hand on Tom’s belly. Tom still can’t believe that he can have that, that it’s even possible for him to be so desired. If he didn’t personally witness Chris interacting with servers and his co-workers, he’d have believed him to be nothing but a hallucination too.

 

“You really can’t stand the thought of someone like him finding you attractive, can you?”

 

“What?”  Sometimes Tom forgets that he and Loki are of the same mind.

 

“You have your straight teeth now. Isn’t that what was bothering you all those years? So what’s you’re problem? You’re hot stuff, Tom,” Loki says, then adds, “.....when you’re not being a whiny little pussy.”

 

Tom snorts. “Thanks.”

 

“Do you think _I’m_ sexy?”

 

Tom lets out a breathy, incredulous laugh. “What kind of a question is that?”

 

“No, I’m serious!” Loki says, propping himself on his side.  “Am I attractive or not?”

 

Tom considers Loki’s face - _his own face._ The high cheekbones, lively blue eyes, straight nose. Somehow, Loki just wears it better.

 

 “Well…..yeah. I guess so.”

 

“So? What’s the difference?”

 

“I don’t know,” Tom huffs, running a hand through his hair. “Why don’t you just tell me, cos apparently you have all the answers to everything.”

 

“It’s because I’m confident, Tom. _Confidence_ is sexy.”

 

“Oooooh _of course_!” Tom says, bonking his forehead with his palm. “Be confident! That’s it? That’s all there is to it? Why didn’t _I_ think of that?! I just have to be confident! Ho ho! Problem solved!” Tom dusts off his hands. “Well, I think our work here is done. Thanks, Loki. You’re a lifesaver. I don’t know how I got on without you.”

 

Loki cocks an eyebrow. “Are you done?”

 

“You don’t know what it was like for me,” Tom continues angrily. “Picked on all through school, being taken advantage of as an adult. Trying to come to terms with the fact that I fancied the footballer rather than the movie starlet. Wanting to be taken seriously as an actor and as a professional. It’s hard to build self-confidence when you’ve been torn down all your life! You don’t know, okay?”

 

“Actually I _do,”_ Loki says, suddenly serious. “I’ve been with you all along.”

 

The force of this realization hits Tom like a cannonball to the gut. Sometimes, he tends to think of Loki as an independent entity, separate from his own needs, wants, and lived experiences. Loki _is_ Tom, as sure as Tom’s right arm is a part of his body. Whether or not he only exists in Tom’s mind…….does it really matter?

 

Tom sighs. “I can’t just flip a switch, okay?”

 

“Fake it,” Loki says, patting Tom’s thigh, “And I’ll handle the rest. It’ll come, Tom. It’ll come.”

 

Loki smiles at him, and it’s almost….sincere, for once. Soft. Comforting. Tom can almost get past all the crazy shit he’s done in the last few months and appreciate Loki for who he is: a good friend. Maybe even a best friend. Someone who knows Tom more intimately than anyone else, who always has his back, who would do anything to see Tom succeed. The term _soul mate_ isn’t quite applicable, but it’s close.

 

“Speaking of come,” Loki says at length, “We going to fap or what? I didn’t bring you in here for nothing.”

 

“You’re unbelievable,” Tom mutters.

 

***

 

The play begins its run on a Thursday night, and is scheduled for a show every day until Sunday, with an extra matinee on Saturday. Tom had taken most of that week off in preparation, not wanting to spend all day at work then all night at the theatre. The show actually sold quite well this season, to everyone’s shock; Tom is not sure if this is a happy twist of fate or somehow Loki’s doing. Tom would not be surprised either way.

 

Still, he can’t pretend he’s not disappointed with how things turned out. Benedict is, predictably, great in the role, but watching him soak up all the applause at the end of the night is more than a little grating.

 

Whoever said _there are no small roles, only small actors_ probably had a big role.

 

Tom sighs. The important thing is that he had a lot of great practice as understudy.

 

Maybe next time he’ll have better luck.

 

***

 

Tom is, for lack of a better word, _fucking sick to death_ of the show by the time Saturday night rolls around; if he has to hear Benedict’s monologue from act two _one more time_  he swears he might go mental. As much as he loves the theatre, he’ll be glad to have a break for a few months before they start again in September.

 

“C’mon, lets go,” Loki barks, pulling on Tom’s arm as Tom struggles to finish his coffee. “You’re going to be late.”

 

“What do you care? You said this whole community theatre thing was, and I quote, ‘gayer than a cock-flavoured lollipop _’_.”

 

“Tom, I swear to god,” Loki says.

 

Tom all but drags himself to the theatre, exhausted and grumpy, and enters around through the back. Everyone seems tired; the exuberance from opening night has faded considerably and Tom suspects they are all as sick of this as he is, although nobody says so. It’s their last showing, so at least Tom won’t have to put up with Ben’s peacocking much longer.

 

Tom is prepping some of the props for the first scene when Ken bursts into the the theatre, striding down the aisles with purposeful intent.

 

“Tom, Tom. There you are. Thank god,” Kenneth says, breathless. “Ben isn’t coming. He had a food poisoning incident, he’s in the hospital.”

 

Tom blinks. “What??”

 

“He’ll be fine, Tom, he says he’s fine, no time to explain, but now it’s on you. This is why we have understudies.”

 

Loki, who is lounging on the prop bed onstage, gives Tom the thumbs up.

 

“Oh, god,” Tom says.

 

“You’ll be great, Tom,” Ken pats his shoulder encouragingly, but there’s an air of urgency about him that only truly manifests when something goes horribly, horribly wrong on shownight. “Now go get changed. Hurry, curtain’s in a half hour.” He claps his hands, “People, people listen up, I have an announcement…..”

 

Tom is shooed towards the change rooms, dazed. Loki trails behind him leisurely.

 

Tom whirls on him the second they’re alone. He grips the lapelles of Loki’s jacket in a fury. “Did you do this???”

 

“Hey, easy _, easy,”_ Loki says, trying to pry Tom off, but theres a wry smile on his face that indicates the affirmative. “This is real leather.”

 

“ _What did you do?!”_

 

“Nothing!” Loki says, then adds quietly, “.....much really.”

 

“Loki….” Tom growls.

 

“Chill, man. Jesus. Don’t get your panties in a twist. You heard Ken, Ben will be fine.” Loki pauses. “He just really, _really,_ shouldn’t have had chipotle last night.”

 

 _“_ You _poisoned_ him?” Tom’s jaw drops. _“Are you insane_???”

 

“Oh that’s rich, coming from you.”

 

“You could have killed him!”

 

“Nah,” Loki says, waving his hand dismissively. “But he won’t be eating Mexican again any time soon. Don’t make that face at me! You didn’t object to what we did to Fassy.”

 

“Michael deserved it. But Benedict, he’s -”

 

“Not as good as you,” Loki finishes. “He’s not as good as you, Tom.”

 

“I can’t believe this.” Tom says, covering his face with his hands. “I can’t do it. I’m fucked. I’m so fucked. Fuck fuck fuck -”

 

“Tom? Tom. Look at me. Look at me, Tom. LOOK AT ME. Now shut the fuck up.”

 

Tom blinks.

 

“I’ve just about had enough with this self-deprecating bullshit. Waaaahhh, Chris doesn’t find me attractive. Waaahhhhh I’m not good enough for the promotion. This is your chance. This is _what you wanted._ You know all the lines, the blocking. Everyone’s counting on you.  You’re so much better than that fucking twat anyway. He looks like a foot. And I worked fucking hard to make this happen for you, so suck it up and _give me magic._ ”

 

“Loki,” Tom says, “This is _crazy.”_

 

“ _Magic,”_ Loki repeats, wiggling his fingers in Tom’s face. “Oh, and by the way, Chris is coming tonight. You gave him tickets.”

 

“He is??” Tom pauses. “What?!! HOW?”

 

Loki raises his hands excitedly. “SURPRISE!!!!”

 

“I….oh my god….” Tom suddenly feels faint.

 

“Go get changed, loser. You will be amazing _._ ”

 

“Will you help me? Tom says weakly. “With the Hyde parts?”

 

Loki shakes his head, smiling.

 

“You don’t need me. You got this.”

 

***

 

The play is a blurr. Tom had rehearsed for this eventuality; the lines come to his with ease, but more than that, Tom can _feel_ himself emoting in a way he’s never done before. He _is_ Jekyll, and then he _is_ Hyde. This is it. This is what Kenneth was talking about. No hesitation, no holding back.

 

Tom can hardly think on it until the play is over, when he’s taking a bow to the thunderous sound of a standing ovation.

 

***

 

“Tom, you were _incredible_!” Chris exclaims, pulling Tom into a huge bear hug as soon as they meet in the lobby. Tom is momentarily rendered breathless by the force of it, but grins anyway. Behind Chris’ head, Natalie is pointing to Chris and mouthing _wow._

 

“I just - I don’t even know what to say! Congratulations, man! I should get your autograph now, before you make it big!”

 

Tom grins, “Thanks for coming.”

 

“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything! Too bad that the lead’s entire family died in that tragic paragliding accident the night before the finale, though.” Chris shakes his head. “So sad.”

 

“Erm, yeah.” Tom says.

 

“But great for you, Tom! I can’t get over you amazing you were! Playing two completely different characters at once?! Wow! I’m so glad I got to see you.”

 

Chris fawns over him like a silly fangirl, and although Tom’s initial inclination is to brush off his praise, a part of him - a big part - wants to relish it and bask in his adoration. For the first time in his life, Tom chooses to indulge himself in this.

 

_Yeah, I was good._

 

 _I was_ fucking _good._

 

 _I_ am _amazing._

 

“Where are you parked?” Tom asks, in part because he’s already thinking ahead to the end of the night. He wants to leave with Chris, or at least meet him somewhere later. The night feels too perfect to end just yet.

 

Chris shuffles his feet. “Oh, I took the bus.”

 

“You did?” Tom says. “Why?”

 

“I’m kind of in between cars at the moment,” Chris says sheepishly, in a way that makes Tom suspect this is not something he’s terribly proud of. The fact that he’d bus across town just to see Tom’s dumb play is more than a little heartwarming.

 

“I can give you a ride,” Tom offers.

 

“Tom, I don’t want to be a bother. It’s closing night. You probably have a cast party or something to go to. I can bus it. I don’t mind.”

 

“No,” Tom says. “Well, yes. They’re having a party. But I’d rather leave now with you.”

 

Chris frowns. “You sure?”

 

“Chris,” Tom says in false exasperation, “Get in the fucking car.”

 

Chris’ face cracks, and he raises his arms in defeat. “Fine! Fine. You win! Let’s go.”

 

Tom leads him out into the parking lot, still giddy with the night’s events. He scans for his Honda Civic, but then he remembers he brought the _Jaguar_ tonight.

 

 _Oh yeah_ , Tom thinks. Then: _Fuck. Yes._

 

Tom whips his keys out, and remotely unlocks the door.

 

“Whoa!!” Chris exclaims. “This is your car?”

 

“It’s new,” Tom says, more than a little proudly.

 

“ _Really nice_ ,” Chris says, awed, as he sinks into the leather seats. “Went and got yourself a little treat, huh?” He strokes the woodwork on the dash. “Well, it’s no UPS standard-issue delivery truck, but I guess it’ll do. I will deign to be taken home in this completely acceptable vehicle.”

 

Tom grins, revs the engine, and pulls out onto the open road. He accelerates, nipping through the meagre traffic on the highway. The Jaguar drives smoothly, responding to his command as though it were an extension of himself.

 

“Whoa,” he hears Chris say.

 

There is something intoxicating about the way everything has come together - the open road, empty at this time of night; his ipod blaring Massive Attack over top-of the line speakers; the wind from the open sunroof caressing his hair; the success of his play; and of course Chris, handsome and perfect in Tom’s passenger seat.

 

And suddenly, Tom thinks, he feels a bit of Loki come over him. He knows the speed limit is fifty miles per hour. He knows cops are on the lookout at this time of night. Tom’s always been good, played by the rules. He’s never been in trouble before. He’s never even had a parking ticket.

 

And yet here he is, accelerating well past the posted limit. The Jaguar takes it easily, and Tom thrills; the rush of speed heady and addictive.

 

“Uh, mate,” Chris says over the booming music, “It said fifty back there.”

 

“I know,” Tom says. “This okay?”

 

Tom says this and means it. If Chris were bothered, he’d slow down. Chris had worked so hard to stay out of trouble, Tom would never want to put him at risk.

 

Still, he can’t pretend he isn’t infinitely pleased when Chris shoots him a dark grin in assent. There’s something of a bad boy in him still, it seems.

 

“Fuck yeah,” Tom murmurs, shifting gears.

 

He speeds along the highway, passing car after car, the streetlamps flashing like strobe lights. He’s focused, senses razor-sharp, perfectly in tune with his machine. Tom feels crazy, and sexy, and _powerful,_ as though his entire life had led up to this moment.

 

It’s so good, Tom barely even notices the cop’s flashing lights in his rearview mirrors.

 

“Fuck!” Chris exclaims. “Tom?”

 

Funny thing is, Tom isn’t nervous. He isn’t even fazed. He’s never felt more alive, and he isn’t going to let _some cop_ ruin his fun.

 

Tom accelerates further, feeling himself press into the the fine leather seats.

 

“Oh my god,” Chris says, turning to look behind them. “Tom! There’s a cop back there!”

 

“Yep,” Tom says, his eyes glued on the road ahead. “I know.”

 

“He wants you to pull over!”

 

“Yep,” Tom says again.

 

“ _Jesus Christ,_ what’s gotten into you? _”_ Chris says, when it becomes clear Tom isn’t going to. “You’re crazy!”

 

Tom looks over, his eyes black. “Do you like it?”

 

Chris seems taken aback, stunned, at the one-eighty personality change. Then his lips curl in a devious, predatory grin.

 

“Yeah,’ Chris growls. “Fuck yeah.”

 

“Loca, loca, loca,” Tom says, sing-song.

 

The cop blares his sirens, but Tom only shift gears again, taking off with a roar of the engine.

 

“You think you can outrun him?”

 

“Maybe not,” Tom says, “But I can out- _maneuver_ him.”

 

At that, Tom whips the steering wheel to one side, pulling off the freeway and onto a turnoff at the last minute.

 

“Whoa!” Chris yells, kanting to the side with the g-forces. If he weren’t buckled in, he’d have crushed Tom. “Little warning, mate?”

 

The Jaguar hugs the road smoothly. She was _made_ for this. She _likes_ this.

 

“Yeah, baby,” Tom says, looking in his rearview mirror. The cop, meanwhile, hadn’t been quick enough to make the turnoff; he’s stuck up on the freeway, and Tom will be long gone by the time he gets himself back on track.

 

Tom makes a few more sharp, zig-zag turns, just to make sure that he’s not followed.  At length, he pulls into a deserted parking garage, shuts off the engine, and kills the lights.

 

They sit in silence for a while: Chris in shock, Tom riding his high. Tom has never smoked in his life, but if he did, now would be the perfect time to do it.

 

“Tom?”

 

“Yes, Chris?”

 

Chris never finishes that thought, because in a flash, they are both crashing their lips against each other, kissing hungrily over the central dash. It’s raw and animalistic, fuelled by testosterone and adrenaline; a scramble of gnashing teeth and frantic hands. Tom can hardly even come up for air. He shoves his tongue in Chris’ mouth and rumbles, pleased, when Chris responds in turn. He even grabs Chris’s ponytail, jerking it back to lick up his neck.

 

“My place?”  Tom says, panting.

 

“Yeah,” Chris growls. “Fuck yeah.”

 

***

 

Tom isn’t sure how they even make it back to his condo, the way he and Chris are pawing at each other. Once they’re through his front door, Chris is already ripping Tom’s dress jacket off, and Tom is making quick work of the buttons on Chris’ crisp white button-down. Everything is so hot, hazy and feverish.They somehow make it upstairs, crashing into each other in a feral frenzy. Tom simply cannot get this man naked quickly enough. He pushes Chris backwards onto his bed and practically pounces on him, delighting in the feel of his firm body beneath Tom’s. Chris is firm and massive, all muscle and coiled strength, his clothed erection digging into Tom’s thigh.

 

“Wow!” Chris exclaims, catching sight of the barely used tub of KY on Tom’s floor. “Someone’s prepared!”

 

Tom almost has the good sense to be embarrassed about this, but instead shrugs and rips off his own shirt. “I’m a thirsty bitch.”

 

Chris laughs, darkly amused, but his breath hitches as Tom grinds down on his cock.

 

“You’re crazy.” he says again.

 

“You have no fucking idea.” Tom murmurs.

 

Tom rips open the last of Chris’ buttons, too impatient to fumble with the finicky things anymore. Old Tom would have apologized for this. New Tom doesn’t give a fuck. He’ll buy Chris a new shirt, whatever.

 

Finally, Chris’ chest is bared to him, and it’s as mouth-watering as Tom had always imagined. He’s literally _covered_ in tats, coiling over his pecs and shoulders - designs Tom can’t really make out in the dim light and with his lust-addled brain. Tom groans. He’s going to map every single inch of him with his tongue. He leans down and laps at the crook of Chris’ neck, making Chris shudder.

 

“Did you get these in prison?” Tom asks, running his hands over Chris’ chest.

 

“Some of them, yeah,” Chris admits.

 

Tom is almost impossibly aroused by this.

 

“Bad, Chris,” he says. “What would you have done to a pretty boy like me in prison?”

 

“What?” Chris asks, blinking.

 

“Pretty boy, goody-two shoes, innocent little me,” Tom repeats. “Locked in your cell with you at night. What would you have done?” He shoots Chris a look.

 

Chris’ eyes light up in understanding. He smiles darkly, his hands closing over Tom’s thighs. “You don’t wanna know, sweetheart.”

 

“Tell me,” Tom croons, rolling his hips. “Come on.”

 

“You wouldn’t make it a week in there,” Chris says, playing along. “Like throwing meat to the wolves. Some of those guys, locked in for ten, twenty years, they’re pent up. They’re _hungry._ “

 

“Fuck,” Tom says, his own cock painfully hard at the thought. “And you, Chris? Are you _pent up?”_

 

“Oh yeah,” Chris growls.“I’d wait until lights out.....and climb into your bunk…..”

 

“Yessssss,” Tom hisses, still rocking in Chris’ lap.

 

“I’d pin you down, tell you to be very, very quiet….”

 

“Show me,” Tom demands.

 

In an impressive display of strength, Chris bucks up, grabbing Tom and throwing him onto his back. Chris climbs atop him, prying his legs apart and pinning Tom’s hands on either sides of his head, heavy and immovable. Not for the first time, Tom delights in just how _strong_ Chris is. He’s warm and weighty between Tom’s legs, and Tom can’t help but hump against him.

 

Still, in his eyes, there’s a hint of hesitation that lets Tom know he’d stop if Tom wanted him to. Chris is still Chris, sweet and cuddly and good-natured, who laughs at his own bad puns, who will only eat ice cream from a cone but won’t actually _eat_ the cone, and who bought _Cosmos: A Spacetime Odyssey_ the day it came out on DVD.

 

 But that’s not what Tom wants right now.

 

“Tell me, Chris,” Tom says, breaking character a bit. “Tell me what you want.”

 

 _And I’ll do it,_ Tom thinks.  Not because he has to, but because he _wants_ to. It’s very convenient, then, that their desires seem to align perfectly with each other.

 

 _“_ Do you want to fuck me?” Tom prods.

 

“Yeah,” Chris confesses. “ _Yeah._ ”

 

“Come on, then.” Tom says sinfully. “Hold me down. Fuck me. I want you to.” 

 

Chris groans, cursing under his breath. He ruts almost helplessly between Tom’s legs. Softly, he says, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

“You won’t. I know you won’t. I trust you.” Tom kisses him quickly, reassuringly, “I’ll tell you if it’s too much, I promise. Just - please, keep going.”

 

“Give me a safeword, and I’ll keep going,” Chris says.

 

Tom thinks. What is the least sexy, most boner-killing word in the English language?

 

“Cumberbatch.”

 

“Cumberbatch? What’s a cumberbatch?”

 

Tom sighs in frustration. “Chris, if you don’t get your dick in me within the next ten minutes, I swear to God...”

 

“Alright! Alright. Cumberbatch it is.”

 

He dips his head down to kiss Tom, open-mouthed and hot, a clash of teeth and tongue. Tom runs his hands greedily over the bulk of him, antsy with anticipation. He’s been waiting for this moment since the moment they’d first met, and he’s not about to let the opportunity go to waste.

 

As soon as they break the kiss, Tom prompts, “Then what would you do?”

 

The uncertainty has now dissipated from Chris’ face, and he dives wholeheartedly back into their little game.

 

“I’d tell you to be good for me,” Chris goes on. “Be very good for me.” He releases Tom’s wrists to slide a hand up Tom’s chest, thumbing at his nipples, “Don’t make a sound.”

 

“Mmf,” Tom says, letting himself be silenced by Chris’ mouth. He throws his arms over Chris’ head, unable to pull him close enough.

 

“You need friends in here you know,” Chris says, mouthing hotly at Tom’s neck. “Pretty little thing like you could find yourself in a lot of trouble.”

 

“Yeah,” Tom agrees. “ _Fuck.”_

 

Chris mouths hotly at Tom’s neck, “I think we could come to a little _arrangement,_ you and I.”

 

“What kind of arrangement?” Tom asks breathlessly, because he wants so badly to hear Chris say it.

 

“Oh, you’re a smart kid, I think you could figure it out.”

 

And in an instant, Tom finds himself flipped onto his stomach, then dragged up to his knees. Tom’s inner monologue devolves into one long, drawn-out _fuuuuuuckkkkk._ All that comes out of his mouth, however, is a weak kittenish gasp.

 

Chris is there behind him, draped warmly over his back. With one hand, he fiddles with Tom’s fly, and after much fumbling around, finally manages to get it open. In one smooth motion, he slides both Tom’s pants and underwear down his hips, leaving him nude. Tom doesn’t resist this as much as the fantasy calls for, but whatever. He’s horny, fuck it.

 

“Fuck, Tom,” Chris groans behind him, palming at Tom’s hips and ass. “You’re gorgeous like this, you know that? Bent over and _begging_ for cock.” He reaches around to stroke Tom’s dick, and although Tom is aching for stimulation, he stubbornly bats Chris’ hand away.

 

“I’ll come too soon. Fuck me before I come.”

 

“ _Jesus,”_ Chris says. He’s gone for a moment, and when he comes back, his fingers are cool and wet.

 

“We’re going to use that whole tub, I hope you know that.”

 

Tom can’t help the silly, nervous giggle that escapes his lips. They really suck at role play.

 

All the more reason to practice.

 

“Are you gonna do this or - _oh,_ ” Tom’s head dips between his shoulders when he feels Chris’ fingers sliding down his ass, nudging at his hole.

 

“Shhhh, shhh,” Chris says, somewhat smugly. “You gotta be quiet for me, yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Tom says weakly. He muffles a groan in a pillow as he’s breached. It’s been awhile since he’d done this with someone else, and Chris’ thick fingers feel so unlike Tom’s own slim ones. Tom had always liked being fingered, liked the unnatural stretch of it, the feeling of his own inner walls around his fingers. Granted, his libido took a bit of a hit when Loki first sprung into his life. To get any sort of relief, Tom had to first shoo Loki out of the room. Having his doppelganger hover around during _Tom Time_ was a bit unnerving to say the least. But lately, Tom had grown to not mind so much. So Tom likes a little bit of anal: _whoop-dee-doo_. It’s not like Loki didn’t know this already. Who would he tell, anyway? Besides, if Loki were real, Tom suspects he’d be the greediest little cockslut. Tom doesn’t really want to dwell on what that says about _him -_ Loki being a manifestation of his unconscious desires and all - but nonetheless. The point is, Loki’s in no position to judge.

 

Chris goes slow, first with one finger and then two, until Tom’s hole feels loose and sloppy with lube. Chris’ one hand on Tom’s hip is firm, but the fingers inside him are working slowly, tenderly. Although Tom appreciates that Chris doesn’t want to hurt him, deep down, Tom just wants to be fucked until he screams himself hoarse.

 

“I’m ready,” Tom says, trying to get things rolling. “If you’re going to do this, just _do it.”_

 

“Impatient,” Chris growls, although there is a hint of a smirk in his voice. “I can tell you and I are going to have a lot of _fun_ together.”

 

He’s gone again for another second, and this time, Tom hears the crinkle of a condom wrapper being ripped open. Unfortunate, but necessary. One day, after they both get tested, they’ll have to do this bare, so that Tom can feel Chris’ come dripping from his ass and be well and truly debauched.

 

“Ass up, babe,” Chris growls lowly. “There you go, just like that, show me how bad you want it.”

 

Tom feels the globes of his ass being parted, and the blunt head of Chris’ cock pressed up against the kiss of his hole. Tom does his best to try to relax, try and let his body open up to the intrusion, but it’s always a bit painful to begin with, especially when his partner is as well-hung as Chris. Tom gasps into the pillow as Chris presses inside him, hard and unrelenting - _so fucking big,_ Tom feels like he’s being moulded to fit Chris’ cock, transformed into an instrument of Chris’ pleasure, _his little slut._ The thought alone is enough to send a shudder of arousal down Tom’s spine, lessening the pain somewhat.

 

Chris keeps going -  slowly, so slowly -  until he’s fully sheathed, his balls coming to rest up against Tom’s taint. Chris’ hands clench on Tom’s shoulder and hip, and when he speaks, his voice is strained.

 

“Fuck, Tom, You feel _so good_ ,” he groans, but he stays still, seemingly waiting either for Tom to adjust or for him to say their safeword. Tom pants brokenly into the mattress, and _fuck,_ it’s almost _too much,_ but Tom wants it, needs it. He isn’t about to ask Chris to stop now.

 

Gently, Tom rocks back, giving Chris a silent go-ahead. Chris responds eagerly, thrusting up slowly but deeply, so that Tom is so full he almost feels Chris up his throat. Tom lets out a pathetic mewl, and it’s enough to make Chris pause again. Damn him and his goddamn gentleness! Tom isn’t made of glass. Tom pushes back, arching his back onto Chris’ thrusts to spur him on.

 

“This what you wanted?” Tom says, then assumes his best innocent voice. “You like fucking little boys?”

 

“ _Jesus Christ,”_ Chris says, faltering somewhat. Tom can’t help but grin crazily to himself. He can already tell he’ll have a lot of fun exploiting that kink in the future. Tom is not above using his youthful looks for nefarious purposes, especially if that purpose is  _ruining Chris' life_. Hell, his old Eton College uniform probably still fits him…. 

 

Chris speeds up his thrusts then, angling Toms hips so that every push in is a drag across Tom’s prostate. Tom groans, seeing stars burst in front of his eyelids. By now, Chris’ girth is starting to feel a lot less like an impediment and more like a wonderful, _magical_ asset.

 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re mine baby,” Chris says, “And imma take care of you, if you’ll be good for me.”

 

Tom moans helplessly and grinds back on Chris’ cock in agreement. ” _Chris.”_

 

Chris fucks in with wild abandon, harder and harder, until the bedframe is rocking against the wall. This is what Tom wants - to feel like he’s being mounted by a great bull, to be utterly owned and dominated. But at the same time, Tom harbors a deep, all-encompassing need to feel desired, appreciated, even _treasured._ It’s a fine balance, but with Chris, Tom thinks he can finally have it all.

 

Chris curls over, turning Tom’s face so he can kiss him deeply. Tom melts into it, even though the angle is rather awkward. In this attitude, Chris can only rock into him gently, but Tom finds himself quite amenable to this new rhythm, slow and thorough, Chris’ cock sliding in and out from root to tip.

 

“So good,” Chris pants into Tom’s ear. “So sweet for me.”

 

At that, Chris pulls back, and resumes his punishing thrusts. Tom gasps, his arms collapsing underneath him. He’s getting close; all it would take is a few strokes of his cock and he’d come. If they were fucking bareback, Tom thinks he could come untouched, just from the added mental pleasure of having Chris fuck him bare, from the feeling of Chris spill in his ass. As it is, Tom weasels a hand underneath himself, and strokes his dick in time to Chris’ thrusts .

 

“I’m close,” Chris says, gripping Tom’s hips so harshly Tom thinks he’ll leave bruises. He thrusts in erratically, losing control, and _fuck_ if it isn’t the hottest thing to have a man like Chris on the verge of orgasm. Tom clenches his inner muscles in encouragement, hoping to drive Chris over the edge, but instead he inadvertently triggers his own climax. Tom screams, spurting all over the mattress below, the waves of pleasure cascading down to his toes and back up again. He feels his hole squeeze almost impossibly tight around Chris’ cock with every contraction of his orgasm, and Chris bucks wildly at the sensation, cursing and moaning Tom’s name. He follows not long after, roaring and spilling into the condom.

 

They collapse together, panting wildly and humping into each other to ride out the rest of their climaxes. Tom feels sticky and slick but also spent and _wonderful,_ his body thrumming with post-orgasmic aftershocks. At length, Chris pulls out, carefully peeling the condom off and trudging to the bathroom to dispose of it. He pads back a minute later, a dopey grin plastered on his face. Tom can’t help but ogle his naked form - God, he is _glorious,_  all golden muscle and brute strength, his tattoos glistening with sweat. Tom opens his arms and Chris slides into bed, scooping Tom in his arms. They lie there, entwined with each other for god knows how long, until their breathing evens out and weariness sets in.

 

“Just so you know,” Tom says at length, “I think I might love you.”

 

Chris’ face is stony. “Well, that’s no good.” He pauses, just long enough for Tom to begin to freak out. Then he grins broadly and adds, “Because I _know_ I love you.”

 

 _“Chris!”_ Tom giggles and punches him in the shoulder, which is not exactly how he’d envisioned his reaction to Chris’ declaration of love. “Never mind, then! I decided I don’t!”

 

“Darn,” Chris says, still grinning. He cups Tom’s cheek, “But I do, Tom. I really do.”

 

“Guh,” Tom says.

 

Chris laughs and kisses the derpy look off Tom’s face.

 

 

***

 

Tom wakes slowly, feeling warm and serene and relaxed. Watery light is streaming through his closed curtains; the room is pleasantly chilled from the opened window. Tom couldn’t have had more than four hours of sleep, but somehow, he feels more clear-headed than he has in months. Maybe years.

 

Chris is still at Tom’s side, laying on his back, mouth half-open and snoring lightly. His hair has come undone from his usual ponytail, so that it fans out on the pillow like a golden halo. Loki is also there, pressed up against Chris’ side with his head laying on Chris’ bare chest. His eyes flit up to meet Tom’s in silent acknowledgement.

 

Funny thing is, Tom isn’t upset or jealous at finding Loki nude in Chris’ arms. Far from it. Loki is an extension of himself, his other half, his own unconscious. Seeing him with Chris is actually rather...pleasing, in a completely inexplicable way. Tom snuggles into Chris’ other side, so that he and Loki are mirror reflections of each other. It’s quiet and oddly intimate, the three of them pressed so close together like this. Loki’s face is soft, the barest hint of a smile ghosting his lips. Neither of them speak, not wanting to disturb Chris’ slumber. Tom wishes he could adequately express the gratitude he feels for everything Loki has done for him. Or maybe he doesn’t have to: Loki probably already knows.

 

Loki sits up slightly, curling over to peer into Chris’ face. He traces the outline of Chris’ jaw, his lips, his cheek with one black fingernail, then leans down to press a kiss to Chris’ mouth.

 

Loki kisses him languidly, almost reverently; his one hand curled around the back of Chris’ neck to hold him close. And it’s strange - although Tom can’t physically _feel_ anything, the sensation is as pleasurable as when Tom kisses Chris himself. He supposes he _is_ kissing Chris, in a way. Loki loves Chris, Tom realizes. This is because Tom loves Chris.

 

Loki deepens the kiss, moaning softly and flicking his tongue past Chris’ parted lips. Chris doesn’t stir, although he does rumble gently, and Tom could almost imagine he feels it too. That would be something: _weirdest threesome ever._ Tom truly must be insane, because he can’t say he hates the idea.

 

At length, Loki lays back down, nuzzling at Chris’ neck adoringly. He looks back to Tom, as if to say, y _our turn._

 

Tom mimics Loki’s action, curling up to kiss first the corner of Chris’ mouth, then full on the lips, slowly and sweetly. This time, however, Chris’ eyelashes flutter open. Loki is gone by the time Tom pulls away, but somehow Tom still feels his presence.

 

 _“And what happens when I don’t need you anymore?”_ Tom had once asked, brows knotted in worry, _“Where will you go?”_

 

_Loki slowly brought his finger up to Tom’s forehead. “I’ll…...be…...right…..here.”_

 

It’s comforting to know, even if Loki does make outdated and ridiculous movie references.

 

“Mornin’,” Chris mumbles sleepily, smiling into Tom’s mouth.

 

“Morning.” Tom says, flicking his nose against Chris’. “How’d you sleep?”

 

“Not ‘nuff,” Chris says groggily, “Too early.” He rolls over, arranging them so that they’re lying back to chest, with Tom on the outside.

 

“I’m always the big spoon,” he complains.

 

Tom giggles into his shoulderblades. “You’re six four!”

 

There is a long pause, and for a while Tom thinks he might’ve fallen back asleep.

 

Then: “I wanna be the little spoon.”

 

“Okay. Alright, big guy,” Tom chuckles at Chris’ sulky tone. Tom slides an arm around Chris’ hefty waist and snuggles into his back. Chris is rather awkward to hold, but Tom likes it, likes the feel of Chris’ warm, solid body entwined with his.

 

And just when Tom thought life couldn’t get any more perfect: outside, it begins to rain.

 

***

***

***

 

_~one year later~_

 

“I don’t see it.”

 

“It’s right there Tom. Look.”

 

“I _am_ looking! And I’m telling you, I don’t see it.”

 

Chris sighs. “Move,” He says, nudging Tom out of the way. He peers down into his telescope. “What are you talking about? It’s right there!”

 

“What?” Tom tries again, pushing Chris out of the way. “ _That’s it_? That little glowing blip there? _That’s_ Andromeda?!”

 

“Well, it _is_ two and a half million light years away, Tom. You’d look tiny too.”

 

Chris fiddles with his new telescope with a childlike exuberance, trying out all different lenses and settings. He’d gotten a mysterious bonus at work, and finally purchased it after much cajoling from Tom. Tom does not ask whether Loki had a hand in this windfall or not, and Loki doesn’t tell. Sometimes it’s best not to know.

 

In any case, Chris is _thrilled_ with his purchase, and Tom revels in his enthusiasm. Having been a cityslicker all his life, Tom never stopped to really appreciate the beauty of the stars and cosmos. Then again, maybe he’s just biased, because it’s _Chris_. Tom would have been interested if Chris were rambling on about Foucalt.

 

 _“It’s like looking into the past,”_ Chris had told him once. _“Some of these stars are gone now; all that’s left of them is the light travelling to earth. We’re looking at the skies as they were, not as they are.”_

 

Chris adjusts his telescope, muttering to himself and looking through the eyepiece.

 

“Okay. Try now. And I swear if you miss this you’ll need to get your eyes checked.”

 

Tom looks. This time, the spot of light is unmistakable.

 

“Jupiter,” Chris says. “And see, see? You can kinda make out the Great Red Spot….?”

 

“Yeah!” Tom says. “Hey! Cool! What is that?”

 

“A storm. Like a ginormous hurricane. You could fit the Earth in it! It’s been burning for hundreds of years.”

 

“Wow,” Tom says, waggling his eyebrows. “But you know, what I _really_ want to see is- “

 

“Don’t even say it,” Chris snaps. “I get that enough from Liam. And it’s pronounced UR-anus. UR-anus.”

 

Tom giggles and stands upright to kiss Chris’ cheek. The only thing that irks Chris more than the Uranus joke is calling Pluto a planet. It’s a _dwarf planet,_ now, apparently; Chris had made that absolutely clear. Believing otherwise is something of a relationship dealbreaker.

 

What a _fucking dork._

 

“You’re so cute when you’re annoyed,” Tom coos, pinching his cheeks.

 

“I’m _always_ cute,” Chris says arrogantly.

 

Tom laughs. “You are,” he agrees, wrapping his arms around Chris’ neck. “Gratuitously so. You know, when we first met, I was almost too shy to talk to you.”

 

Chris makes a disbelieving face. “Really?”

 

“Um….YEAH. Big, strapping, handsome buck like you? It was intimidating!”

 

Chris scoffs. “I can hardly imagine you being intimidated by anything. You’re _ferocious._ ” He accompanies this was a lascivious wink and a firm pat to Tom’s rump.

 

“It’s true!” Tom exclaims. “I was a totally different person back then.”

 

Chris smiles, lazily amused. He rests his hands on Tom’s hips. “What changed?”

 

Tom laughs incredulously, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

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> [My Tumblr!](http://teresa-dances-in-sequins.tumblr.com)
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> Comments and feedback are always lovely <3


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